


Conspiracy To Commit Romance With A Deadly Weapon

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - College/University, Double Life, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Exhibitionism, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Secret Identity, Suggestive Themes, Unresolved Sexual Tension, airsoft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: Woojin can shoot anything, at any distance. Except his shot.





	1. Attachment Theory

“Hostiles.”

 

That one whispered word from his squadmate sent an electric jolt up Woojin’s spine and it instinctively snapped him into combat mode. “Heads down,” he ordered. The three men moving through the woods behind him stopped in their tracks to duck. Woojin squatted low, using the line of bushes near him as cover.

 

They waited.

 

Quiet.

 

A bad call? No. Woojin trusted his squadmates. More than anything. They could offer him poisoned food and he would still take it from their hands without question. He shot a look towards the squadmate who had made the call: Jack Rabbit. “Cardinal direction?”

 

“Due north,” Jack Rabbit replied, his dark eyes were as hard as steel and aimed in the very direction they were headed towards.

 

“Behind that hill. Go. Move,” Woojin snapped.

 

His men went right, keeping their bodies low to the ground so that their heads wouldn’t poke out over the top of the knee-high unkempt grass.

 

“Up,” Woojin ordered. “But easy.”

 

They climbed the hill slowly but efficiently until they were close to the top. Woojin raised a fist, signaling his squad to hold.

 

This was wild. The four of them had been advancing forward with quite some speed but he hadn’t realized they’d encroached on enemy territory so goddamn quickly. Perhaps the map he’d drawn had been a little... inaccurate.

 

“You got eyes on them?” Woojin asked. He still hadn’t seen anything. Heard anything.

 

Jack Rabbit had gotten higher up on the hill than he had. “Three on the left,” the man elaborated. “One coming up on the right. Across the bridge.”

 

Woojin mentally oriented himself with the map info he’d memorized back at base. If at least _that_ bit of his drawing was accurate, then the squad approaching them had fanned out quite wide to cover ground if one was all the way out by the bridge.

 

Another teammate asked, “Orders?”

 

The smart move would be to retreat. Back up enough to stay out of sight range and wait for the opposing squad to pass. Their ultimate goal was to flank the capture point up ahead but now Woojin was itching for first blood. With practiced movements, Woojin grabbed hold of the sniper rifle slung across his back and took it in both of his hands, barrel in his left and trigger stock in his right.

 

The rifle was new. Heavier than Woojin was used to. Longer. Bolt-action. A birthday present from his father.

 

On an unfamiliar field like this, it probably wasn’t the best of times to take new equipment on a test run but the rifle had a top of the line suppressor on the muzzle and a fucking crazy scope. The shots were supposed to be damn near impossible to hear and was accurate damn close to 100 meters away. “Get hot,” he whispered.

 

His squadmates obeyed. They drew their handguns or assault rifles and inched forward towards the crest of the hill.

 

Woojin laid flat on his stomach and crawled forward until he was beneath a row of bushes. He had to move slowly and methodically to avoid snapping any branches and giving his squad away. With his left hand, he flattened grass out of his way and, with his right, he propped up his rifle to prepare a shot. He had visuals on the hostiles now. A full squad of four coming up the slope off the riverbank. They moved at a decent clip, not quite a jog. Their weaponry hung at their sides as if they were not expecting company but their heads stayed swiveling side to side, always on the alert.

 

Woojin’s squad hadn’t been detected yet. Good. If the four of them moved fast, they could get the drop on the hostiles. Have them eliminated before they knew which direction the shots were coming from. “Marquis, take right,” Woojin whispered, using his teammate’s codename.

 

Marquis was their best shot, able to aim and shoot before most other men had a finger on the trigger. “Roger,” Marquis acknowledged the command and advanced through the high grass and brush towards Woojin’s right.

 

Not wanting his team to make too much noise, Woojin waited, gauging his enemy’s reactions.

 

Their pace didn’t change. Their heads didn’t jerk towards the hill. A flock of birds took flight from a distant treetop but even that noise didn’t distract the approaching squad.

 

Woojin’s men were still undetected. He took a hand off his gun to point two fingers towards the lower part of the hill, down towards the rocks. “Hellhound, Jack Rabbit, take left.”

 

They followed their squad leader’s commands without hesitation, moving quietly.

 

Woojin lowered his chin and aimed down the sights. Through the scope, he could more clearly see the enemy squad making their way through the woods towards them. They hustled with clear purpose but their motives weren’t obvious. What were they up to this close to out of bounds? This part of the woods where the evergreens grew really close and the river got really narrow and shallow… It was nowhere near a central route to any of the field’s capture points. The only explanation for that squad being out here was - and the realization nearly made him cuss aloud - was that they were rushing straight in for an ambush on Woojin’s team's base. Practically the same thing that they were doing now! Great minds and all of that.

 

It was a valid strategy but they weren’t about to get the chance to do it.

 

“Hellhound, stay with me. Jack Rabbit, to the far side of the path,” Woojin hissed.

 

Jack Rabbit was their youngest. Their newest. A last-minute replacement. But that didn’t mean he was bad. He’d been popping soup cans off fence posts with toy guns in his backyard since he was in middle school. The kid was gymnast-trained, making him their fastest climber. He vaulted over a hollow tree trunk, the corpse of a lightning strike, and slid behind a boulder, practically turning invisible in its shadow. He held his pistol at the ready, not even out of breath after all of that movement.

 

Woojin peered through the scope of his rifle. With his squad in position, they were ready to strike. A coordinated assault and they could eliminate the whole squad in a breath. “I’ll take…” Woojin’s voice got caught in his throat and he sucked a surprise gasp between his teeth.

 

One of the hostiles he was watching had turned, putting his face more directly towards the dappled sunlight pouring through the forest canopy above them. The lower half of the target’s face was covered by a camo scarf with a terrifyingly familiar shark mouth design on the front. The man’s safety goggles nearly obscured his eyes but there was little he could do to hide those freckles.

 

Fuck.

 

“Wraith,” Marquis whispered, calling Woojin by his codename, the only names the squad attached to each other on the field. “Orders?”

 

Woojin swallowed. He hated that the rate of his pulse had spiked like this. “Hold.”

 

Seconds passed. The enemy squad drew closer. Tension rose.

 

Hellhound almost spoke too loudly when he said, “We’ll be spotted if they get much closer.”

 

Woojin - no, Wraith on the field - usually didn’t freeze up like this. He was calm and collected, almost robotic, able to keep his head cool even when his team was surrounded and outnumbered. He usually didn’t freeze up! He just... didn’t expect to come face to face with his squad’s rivals this early in the match. His squad’s lack of a reaction let Wraith know that they hadn’t recognized the men swiftly approaching them yet. He was almost tempted to tell them but such news would break their nerve. He had to let them think these were easy, early-game pickings.

 

Wraith glanced towards Marquis who had crawled even farther off to the right, looking to get a better angle.

 

“I’ll take the one in rear,” Wraith commanded firmly. He didn’t even have to see the other members of the enemy squad to know the order they always traveled in. “Hellhound, get the one in front. On my mark. Quickly.”

 

“Hoo-ah,” came Hellhound’s assenting grunt. Hellhound had been in the squad as long as Woojin had. They knew each other’s movements and quirks, even knew when the other was thirsty and had a canteen ready before the other even had to ask. What Hellhound didn’t possess in physical stamina or precision aim, he made up for with genuine passion for the game.

 

Hellhound moved, crossing to the left side of the hill quickly but quietly. He kept his assault rifle close to his chest as he moved to keep it from rattling and giving away their location.

 

The opposing squad came closer. They marched with single-minded determination. Easy pickings. This was duck season.

 

If Wraith were a team player, he’d have sent Jack Rabbit back towards camp to inform the other squads on their team of the incoming threat. Maybe they could get an ambush set up and catch the fuckers off-guard. But Wraith wasn’t a team player. At least not when it came to his rivals. Fuck strategy. Fuck the greater good of the team. Now this was all about victory. Another tally mark. Another ‘fuck you’ to his rival. His heart began to race again but, this time, for an entirely different reason.

 

Wraith’s squad still had the advantage of the angle of the setting sun on their side but they would lose it within the next ten seconds once the enemy squad got in the hill’s shadow.

 

“In position,” Hellhound announced from the left.

 

Marquis hummed his own position confirmation from the right side.

 

Jack Rabbit followed suit. He’d moved a bit past the boulder to lay prone beneath a fallen tree right next to the path, his outfit little more than a speck of brown among the yellows and greens and reddish-oranges of the foliage. If Wraith hadn’t watched him slip in there with his own eyes, he never would have spotted the guy. He hoped the enemy wouldn’t, either. He was counting on it.

 

Wraith still had his rifle aimed at the freckled man. He peered through the scope and watched him.

 

Fortune was his codename. He was slim and narrow, almost _dainty_ despite the bulkiness of his equipment, but he was notorious for his sprinting speed and his accuracy while running. Give him a pistol with a decent suppressor and he could run up on and take out a whole squad from behind single-handedly. Fortune wasn’t the target Wraith had claimed, though. He’d left the kid to Jack Rabbit. He shifted the barrel of his gun to the left until another member of his rival’s squad came into view.

 

Jacque. Not too much taller than Fortune. About as small and maybe even skinnier. He was the surveillance specialist, Wraith remembered. Cameras. Drones. Just sitting still and _watching_. Information gathering was his specialty but, fortunately, he was too easily spooked to be much of a shot. He wasn’t Wraith’s target either as he’d been assigned to Hellhound.

 

Wraith turned his scope towards the rear of the squad’s formation until the one he was truly after came into view.

 

The son of a bitch.

 

Thick-shouldered and tall yet graceful, somehow. Even beneath the camo jumpsuit, ammo pouches and supply bags, he moved fluidly. Just like everyone out here on the field, his safety goggles covered the top half of his face, obscuring his features all the way down to the tip of his nose. Streaks of mud were slathered across his cheeks to prevent sun glare. He had a hat on, something with false moss and summer-dry grass glued around the brim to help hide its man-made shape, but Wraith could still see the man’s dyed red curls unfurling from behind his ears.

 

Scylla.

 

Named after the legendary sea-monster. A fitting label, considering the man’s brutal tactics and the menacing way he lured his foes into traps like a panther playing with its prey.

 

Wraith had never seen Scylla’s whole face but, Christ, he _had_ to be smoking hot under there. Right? If the mystery under the safety goggles wasn’t enough of a reason to get turned on, it was probably the fact that Scylla was the only sniper who was objectively _better_ than Wraith that truly sealed the deal. Scylla had a higher kill count. Higher accuracy. A better long-distance record. His squad didn’t have quite as many wins under their belt as Wraith’s but Scylla was the only one who actually gave Wraith a hard time. The only one who made the victories _worth it_.

 

Through his rifle’s scope, Wraith watched the very moment that Scylla seemed to sense he was being watched. He stood up straighter, put his other hand on his rifle and said two words to his squad mates that Wraith could not hear with his ears but he could read them on Scylla’s lips:

 

“Eyes up.”

 

Shit. Had they given themselves away somehow? Woojin checked his squad members’ positions. Only Marquis seemed to be in any real danger of being spotted now that he’d left the hill entirely and was crawling across the forest floor, but he was so far off to the right that he was moving almost perpendicular to the approaching squad. They wouldn’t spot him unless they turned around.

 

“Wraith,” Hellhound pressed, beyond impatient.

 

Scylla’s squad had gotten dangerously close. Almost at the base of the hill. They were well within range of Wraith’s squad, yes, but Wraith’s squad was also well within range to be detected. If they didn’t do this _now_ -

 

“Fire,” Wraith commanded. This was no time to lose his nerve.

 

Everything after that happened in a flash.

 

Marquis’s gun shot a three-round semi-auto burst. _Tat-tat-tat_. The airsoft pellets flew through the air, striking the big guy Chariot in the shoulder blade, making him flinch and almost fall forward. “Hit,” the man on the far right shouted, raising his hand to signal he was out.

 

Jack Rabbit’s gun let loose a single round - _pop!_ \- and struck Fortune in the chest just as he was moving to duck. “Fuck. Hit!” Fortune screamed, raising his open hand.

 

Hellhound had aimed at Scylla’s fourth man, Jacque, but his gun made an unfortunate _cli-cli-clack_ sound when he pulled the trigger. “Jammed,” he grunted, immediately setting to work to fix the mechanism.

 

Wraith shot his own gun, aimed right at the center of Scylla’s chest, but Scylla’s reaction time was ridiculous. He threw himself to the ground before the bullet came close and then he had his side-arm drawn, aimed and fired before Wraith could reload his bolt-action.

 

“Hit,” Hellhound screeched, standing up and raising his hand. He yanked on the bandana tied around his bicep and the bright orange of it waved in the wind, signaling that he was no longer in the game. No longer a target.

 

“They’ve still got two,” Marquis warned. He leaped from out of cover and rushed towards the enemy from behind. Uncharacteristically, he missed. His shots eating into the dirt next to his target’s boots.

 

Jacque turned around long enough to aim and fire.

 

“Hit,” Marquis howled, shaking his gloved hand as it stung from being hit by the bullet.

 

“Goddammit,” Wraith hissed. They were down to two versus two. He risked giving away his location to yell, “Jack Rabbit!”

 

The kid sprang from his hiding spot with the speed of his namesake. Bravely, he ran right into the path of the retreating enemies and fired at them recklessly.

 

“I’m hit,” Jacque screeched, backing away from the firefight with a hand held high.

 

Scylla wasted no time popping Jack Rabbit in the back with two, three, four more airsoft bullets than he needed to.

 

“For fuck’s sake, I’m hit,” Jack Rabbit cursed, pulling free his orange bandana and draping it over his head in shame.

 

“Wraith,” Scylla sang out like calling for the attention of a disobedient child. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

 

This had gone south faster than Wraith had anticipated. If he hadn’t hesitated, if he hadn’t _froze_ , the execution of this operation would have been smooth. Flawless. Gossip-worthy.

 

He aimed down his rifle sights, fully expecting to still have his advantage of stealth.

 

He’d been mistaken.

 

By the time he’d gotten his target in his sights, Scylla already had his own sniper rifle pointed right at him. Two masterful snipers staring each other down. The moment gave Wraith chills and threatened to make him freeze up again. He doubted he’d line up a shot before Scylla pulled the trigger so Wraith did the next best thing:

 

He retreated.

 

Like he was a man on fire, he crawled backwards, back beneath the bushes and to the cold side of the hill. Breaking line of sight would be enough for the moment but he knew better than to underestimate Scylla. That’s what caused this mess in the first place. Not knowing if the man would come around the hill from the left or right, Wraith ran dead ahead, jogging in a loose serpentine, swerving between trees.

 

Shit.

 

There was the unmistakable _pop_ of gunfire behind him. Was that Scylla at the top of the hill already?

 

An airsoft pellet bounced against the tree a breath away from his arm. He heard the high whistle of it cutting through the wind.

 

Fuck! He lunged right, then lunged left, ducking his head. Anything to make himself a harder target to hit. Anything to buy himself enough time to regroup and shoot Scylla before Scylla shot him.

 

Wraith swept the woods in front of him from right to left. The trees stayed tight towards the left so that’s where he ran.

 

Another shot was fired. Another airsoft pellet flew through the air, whistling dangerously close to his arm as he ran.

 

Had Scylla actually _missed_ or had it been a warning shot?

 

Wraith picked up his speed. He no longer cared about evasive maneuvers, he full-on sprinted, his rifle cradled in his arms. If he could get enough distance, if he could get enough trees between them, it wouldn’t matter how good of a shot Scylla was.

 

_Pop. Pop. Pop._

 

He could tell by the difference in sound that Scylla had put away his rifle and had gotten out his sidearm. Wraith felt the blow to his ego like a punch to the gut. Scylla was really, truly doing nothing but playing with him now. He was merciless!

 

_Pop!_

 

The pellet dug into the ground in front of him, sending dried grass and a clod of dirt into the air between his boots.

 

Wraith’s ears rang as adrenaline pumped through his system. In this squad versus squad skirmish, it was only him and Scylla remaining, but if their gunshots made enough noise, another squad would come running. This close to the enemy’s side of the field, it would definitely be red team reinforcements. Not blue. His squad was hit, out of the round, they could no longer relay any information. Help would not be on the way.

 

Wraith was a sniper. He was at his best when he could set up a nest and prepare. He couldn’t set up a proper defense in a rush. Not alone. He had to get Scylla out of the match and find a way to continue on in the game. Perhaps find another squad to link up with!

 

His thoughts turned to radio static as he struggled at the very limits of his stamina.

 

He couldn’t keep running. He _had_ to stop.

 

Wraith came skidding to a halt and flattened his back up to a tree he hoped was wide enough to hide him from sight.

 

Fucking hell. If Hellhound’s gun hadn’t jammed… Shit. No. If he hadn’t frozen and lost them all of that advantageous distance! He struggled to catch his breath. His ears started to ring again. His lungs were on fire. His brain felt like it was melting from the aftermath of the adrenaline rush.

 

There was a smile on his face, though. This was his favorite part about airsoft. This was what made it fun. In no other aspect of his life would he have the opportunity to feel like this, in the jaws of defeat, at someone else’s mercy. There was a chance he could still crawl out of this the victor. A small chance but a chance nonetheless!

 

When he’d steadied his breathing, he dropped his sniper rifle to the grass and removed his sidearm from its holster. It was small, light. A fresh decal applied to its casing turned it into a museum-worthy art piece, an SSP1 covered in beautiful Japanese wood block art. Forcing himself to take long, slow breaths to still his heart rate, Wraith leaned around the tree and aimed his gun. The trees stretched long, black shadows across the ground and the wind set their branches to billowing. The movements played tricks on his eyes and ears. Made him think he saw Scylla when he wasn’t there, hear footsteps when there weren’t any.

 

Silence.

 

No gunshots. No shouts from any reinforcements. Nothing.

 

Wraith took a step out from behind the tree and put both hands on his gun to further steady his aim, holding his arms out at chest height.

 

If he had timed it right, Scylla should be coming up towards him any moment now. In fact, the man was probably already watching him through the scope of his rifle but Wraith held out hope that if he saw Scylla, he’d shoot first. And win.

 

He lunged towards the next tree and ducked into cover, squinting into the distance.

 

There was no Scylla.

 

“Shit,” Wraith heaved, walking back the way he came.

 

A minute he could understand. He had gotten quite the head start with the hill separating him from his pursuer. Two minutes was believable, as the trees and their shadows diminished visibility out here and the ground was terribly uneven and the holes hidden beneath the tall grass had nearly tripped up even a veteran like Wraith.

 

Three minutes was pushing it and probably getting on the ridiculous side of things. “He’s gotta be fucking with me,” Wraith reasoned. There was no way the Scylla that he knew and hated would _let a target go_.

 

Four minutes passed. Then five. Wraith came to a stop beneath a pine tree next to the dirt road. He could see the hill his squad had hid behind in the distance to his right. His eliminated teammates had probably slunk off back to base by now, waiting for the rest of the round to end.

 

Six minutes passed.

 

Not wanting to stick to the path to avoid making himself an easy target, he squatted low and kept his footsteps as light as he could manage as he moved through the brush and grass, heading in the direction of his team’s base camp.

 

Seven minutes passed. Still no sign of Scylla. Eight. Nine.

 

The time crawled by, wearing away at Wraith’s paranoia. This had gone on for quite a while to be a trap even from a heartless bastard like Scylla. If the guy had the shot, he definitely would have taken it by now. He liked to play around, sure, but he was _skilled_ and knew the barely perceptible difference between throwing an advantage by playing poorly and just dicking off to have some fun.

 

Ten minutes passed. Wraith had reached the edge of the woods. He could see his team’s base on the horizon: a gray, weathered cement building covered in graffiti and surrounded by leafy deciduous trees. He was close enough to hear the distant shouts of other people on his team. Wraith let his guard down. There was no way that Scylla was _still_ watching him from somewhere. Not this deep into enemy territory, anyways.

 

Wraith paused at the edge of the woods just to see. The wind had picked up and he could hear leaves rustling and birds chirping. Surprisingly tranquil sounds for the backdrop to an airsoft war.

 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 

Scylla really had _let him go_.

 

Wraith felt like shit. His greatest rival hadn’t even given him the satisfaction of finishing him off!

 

His pride was thoroughly wounded. Scylla probably didn’t even consider him a threat. What was a loud showboater to someone with actual skill anyways? With a pained groan, Wraith lowered his weapon. He’d go back into the woods for his rifle and maybe strike out on a reckless guerilla tactic just to blow off some steam. At least that was his plan. Wraith started to turn around but-

 

“I can’t tell if you’re brave or idiotic.”

 

It was Scylla’s voice. Without question. Wraith’s shoulders slumped. Oddly, he was more relieved than terrified. “Goddammit.”

 

“A cornered rat is so easy to follow,” said Scylla, tsking like a teacher upset at a student’s bad grade. "Not once did you check your six."

 

Wraith deserved it. Being called out on such a stupid, rookie mistake made him feel tiny. Small. Unworthy of being called captain of his squad.

 

“Because of that,” Scylla continued, sounding like he was right behind Wraith, mouth almost at his ear. “I’ve got you in the one place I’ve always wanted you.”

 

Wraith gulped. He was pretty much out of the game. Scylla could shoot him before he could turn around, before he could have his pistol raised and ready to fire. Even making a run for it wouldn’t help. The wide open field in front of him would make it all too easy to get an airsoft pellet in the back. To acknowledge his total defeat, he dropped the pistol in his hand onto the grass at his boots and raised both of his hands above his head in surrender.

 

“Good boy.” Scylla chuckled.

 

It didn’t feel good at all to Wraith to be at such a disadvantage. To have all of his power removed. In fact, it kind of felt great and a foreign rush of delight tore through him like a tornado ripping houses out of the ground.

 

“Now suck my Glock.”

 

Wraith had spun around and dropped to his knees before his brain shot him the warning message that Scylla had said ‘Glock’ not ‘cock.’ Feeling like a fool for being so eager to do something so filthy, Wraith’s cheeks flushed red and he was suddenly thankful for the mask that shielded the lower half of his face from view.

 

Scylla raised an eyebrow. His Glock 18 stared Wraith in the face. He said, “I didn’t mean _actually_ suck it… but since you’re down there...” His voice trailed off like he feared his own words.

 

Wraith scooted closer.

 

“Wait,” Scylla squeaked out. He lowered the gun towards his crotch, holding it between his legs in an obvious imitation of a penis. “Now.”

 

It looked stupid but if Wraith was already this humiliated...

 

Wraith grabbed his mask and pulled it down beneath his chin, blushing so hard that his cheeks had darkened to purple. He leaned forward, his mouth open and his tongue wet and ready to lap at the gun’s plastic barrel. He was close enough to have his lips brush the tip of the gun.

 

“Wait.” Scylla surprised him by lifting the gun away from his mouth. “Wooji-” By accident, he yanked the trigger and shot a pellet point-blank into Wraith’s shoulder.

 

The sting of the bullet was so overwhelming that Woojin screeched and fell back flat on his back in pain. “Hit,” he squeaked out, sucking in a breath and squeezing his eyes shut. “Hit! Hit!”

 

Scylla’s wide-eyed look of surprise was crystal clear even with the safety goggles obscuring his face. He stepped briskly away, holstering his sidearm and slinging his rifle across his back.

 

Absently, Wraith unraveled the orange band around his bicep and draped it over his shoulder just so he wouldn’t get shot at by anyone else. He watched Scylla leave him, not knowing why he felt so dejected.

 

Then it hit him. Ice-cold realization crawled up his back in a wave of goosebumps.

 

Scylla had called him by his real name.


	2. Persona

“What the shit happened to you?” Jack Rabbit leaned in to inspect Wraith’s wound, bringing the stink of sweat and dry earth and worn cotton straight into Wraith’s nose.

 

“Nothing.” Wraith tried and failed to shoo him away.

 

“A whole lotta something to be nothing.”

 

“Looks like a point blank shot,” Hellhound cut in. With gloved hands, he wrapped a length of gauze around Wraith’s shoulder, being careful not to dislodge the medicated cotton swab he’d placed over the wiped-down injury. It wasn’t serious, really, but the airsoft bullet had still broken skin and drawn blood. Hellhound stared into Wraith’s face. “Must’ve hurt.”

 

“Hell yeah it did,” Wraith hissed as Hellhound pressed down hard on the sore spot just to be a dick.

 

With the safety goggles and mask in place, Hellhound was little more than a sharp pair of eyes floating in the shadow beneath his camo hat, but Wraith could still somehow tell that Hellhound was giving him a reassuring smile. “It might bruise a bit but you should be fine,” said Hellhound.

 

Jack Rabbit continued his questioning. “How’d you take a point blank shot? Did you just watch him walk right up to you?”

 

Wraith ignored him.

 

“Here.” Marquis handed Wraith a painkiller from a tiny bottle he had stashed in one of his pouches.

 

Wraith graciously accepted the small white pill and chucked it into his mouth, swallowing it dry. He didn’t _need it_ but he wasn’t about to refuse help.

 

“I repeat,” said Jack Rabbit impatiently, “what happened out there?”

 

“You were gone for so long, we thought you’d made it out,” Marquis added.

 

Wraith surrendered. Rather than endure their bombardment of questions, he figured it would be better to tell them or their curiosity would ruin their focus in the next round. “Scylla tailed me all the way back to base. Jumped me at the edge of the woods. Made me kneel in front of him and shot me in the shoulder.” He left out several extremely important details, but...

 

Marquis almost didn’t look convinced but after a long, tense moment, he shrugged and backed away. “Scylla’s brutal.”

 

“You’ve got that right,” commented Jack Rabbit. He punched his own chest with a fist out of anger. “We had the jump on them and still lost!”

 

“How many minutes until round two,” Wraith asked in a desperate bid to change the subject.

 

“Four and counting,” Hellhound read from his watch. He finished dressing Wraith’s wound and stepped back. “You’re good to go, soldier.”

 

“Thank you.” Wraith pulled his dark green, sweat-soaked shirt back down over his shoulder. He moved his arm in a wide, slow circle. “I’ll be alright.” He could still shoot without much issue and that was the most important thing here.

 

“That was a risky play.” Jack Rabbit was still hounding his ass. “Making us wait so long before giving the attack order. So unlike you.”

 

A lot about what had happened in the woods was _so unlike_ Wraith. Panicking on the trigger. Running like a coward. Not looking behind him like a pleb. Dropping to his knees ready to put somebody’s dick in his mouth. Everything was so unlike him.

 

“Lay off.” Hellhound put his hand on Jack Rabbit’s narrow chest and none-too-gently pushed the shorter man away from Wraith. “It’s just a game. Leave it in Round 1.”

 

“But we can’t get screwed over like that again,” Jack Rabbit hissed.

 

Hellhound raised his voice. “It was just bad luck. Everything went perfect until the end. If my gun hadn’t jammed, then--”

 

“Enough,” Wraith commanded.

 

The two of them fell silent.

 

Jack Rabbit huffed his discontent then spun away to retrieve his gun and holster off a nearby metal table. Hellhound sucked in a deep breath, held it and then let it out.

 

“Not everything goes our way all of the time,” continued Wraith, softening his tone. “We win some. We lose some. But…” He met Jack Rabbit’s eye. “I won’t freeze up like that again.”

 

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Jack Rabbit said.

 

Wraith couldn’t get mad at his skepticism. Jack Rabbit had been in the squad for just a few games. He’d only seen so much of Wraith’s skills. “I’ll show you what I can do.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy but that would probably be the closest either of them would get to an apology.

 

Marquis kicked his calf-high army surplus boots against the cement wall, dislodging clods of mud and dirt from the treads. “I also dropped the ball back there. How about we _all_ do better next time?”

 

That could work.

 

Around them, the other four-man squads on the blue team were stretching and chatting, strategizing and gearing up. The energy in the home base simmered like a pot about to boil, reminding Wraith that this was a fresh start. Round 1 had been lost, sure, but there was still a strong chance the blue team could turn the game in their favor.

 

“Let’s just call all of that a warm-up round,” Wraith suggested, trying to sound more confident. Too much Woojin was showing through, he realized belatedly. He had to keep the nerdy college kid off the field. Out here, he was cool. Suave. Fierce. “This is your home field, Marquis. Any tips?”

 

Marquis stepped forward. His protective eyewear and the scarf wrapped around his head masked the majority of his hair and facial features but his plump lips were pulled tight in a giddy little grin now that he could be the center of attention. “It’s all about speed. On a long and rectangular field like this, the tiniest push can give the greatest advantage. Whoever gets to the capture points first can usually hold them so long as they don’t get flanked. Your home field’s got all of those abandoned houses and dug-out trenches and stone walls, right?” He paused but didn’t exactly wait for an answer to his rhetorical question. “You can take your time there. Slip from house to house. Sneak up on the other team through alleyways or set up snipe teams on roofs. Out here is different. A lot of wide open space. A lot of hills. Trees. It’s really all about which team can make the better, faster, more aggressive push.”

 

Wraith stepped back a few paces to retrieve his sniper rifle off of the bench pressed against the wall. He had gone back to get it at the tail end of Round 1 and, luckily, hadn’t run into Scylla on the trip. Damn that Scylla! Damn how stupidly quick he’d turned Wraith into a fool. But whatever. That was Round 1. This was Round 2.

 

When he turned back around, three sets of eyes were on him.

 

“Orders?” Hellhound asked, tightening the harness that held his ammo pouches across his chest.

 

Over the loudspeaker inside the building, the match announcer was informing the players that Round 2 was starting in 30 seconds. Whistles were being blown. Gates were squealing open. The other squads were standing, forming up, rushing to the open doors, waiting, waiting, waiting.

 

Wraith looked at his men. At the dog-loyal Hellhound. At responsible Marquis. At the wild card Jack Rabbit. He said, “I doubt Scylla’s squad will try the same ballsy move twice in a row so I think we should be okay on the eastern front.” He slung his rifle across his back and stepped towards them, puffing out his chest. “What we could do is swing way west, try to wrap around Capture Point Baker and flank red team from the north.” Secretly, he was banking on Scylla thinking the exact same thing he was: one direction didn’t work so try the other. He _wanted_ to run into Scylla’s squad again but this time do it right. This time, not let a single member of his squad down. This time, get Scylla on _his_ knees.

 

“Sounds doable,” Jack Rabbit stated. He hovered over the relatively crude map Wraith had drawn at the start of the day. “There’s an old watchtower out that way. We lay claim to it and we can see any of them coming.”

 

Wraith had thought about that watchtower, too, but Scylla would _expect_ that. “No. We want the old barn.”

 

Jack Rabbit gasped in surprise. “That’s hella close to red side. We’ll easily get surrounded.”

 

“No we won’t,” said Wraith firmly. He steeled his resolve. “Get ready.”

 

“Copy that,” said Hellhound, agreeing without question.

 

“Roger,” Marquis barked, in it for the fun.

 

Jack Rabbit hesitated for a long moment before setting his pride aside and muttering, “Copy.”

 

Wraith’s squad eagerly joined the rest of blue team at the open double doors just as the countdown was wrapping up. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

 

GO!

 

Thirty two players in camo fatigues carrying plastic guns sprinted into the late April heat.

 

🏳

 

Fortune was pretty popular on YouTube, Woojin hated to admit.

 

It was back around Christmas or so that the guy had posted a THANKS FOR THE 500,000 SUBS video showing off his rather excessive arsenal of airsoft gear he kept in the shed behind his house. Now, barely four months later, Fortune was rapidly closing in on 900k, posting on Twitter that he’d reveal his face on camera if he hit a million. Woojin was actually looking forward to that. It would be cool to know who was beneath the mask, to know exactly who his rival on the field was. Woojin had daydreamed that the guys on his squad were people he went to school with but that didn’t seem too likely. He just went to a minor little trade school. Who here would be into something as niche as airsoft? Besides, he didn’t know a single soul who had freckles like Fortune.

 

“I’m back, everybody,” the guy shouted his intro through the speakers of Woojin’s phone. “And, boy, do I have a game for you.” Cue loud electronic music.

 

Woojin thought Fortune’s videos were a bit… _overproduced_ with the dubstep, the constant stream of meme references, the slow-motion replays and explosion vfx, and the random clips of him doing weird dances but, hey, what did Woojin know? People ate it up. The guy clearly had an audience and, shit, he was here, too. Watching. Enjoying. Well, out of spite, but still. And if he was gonna be at school trapped in his 8AM welding class (was such fuckery even _allowed_?), what better way to kill the time than by watching Fortune’s latest vid while his classmates trickled into the gray-tiled shop, coffees in hand?

 

The video wasn’t a recording of Saturday’s match, thank God. The guy would probably need more time to edit the footage. Instead, Fortune was on some field Woojin had heard of but hadn’t seen. An old factory with wide, empty rooms with tall ceilings butting up against tight passageways and stairwells. All of it was barely illuminated by sunlight through clouded glass windows. Graffiti-covered, constantly damp and grimy, the building’s interior wouldn’t look out of place in a zombie apocalypse yet Fortune navigated it with speed and efficiency, vaulting over window sills or hiding halfway up ladders to sneak up on unsuspecting players from behind.

 

He _was_ good, Woojin fundamentally understood, and that’s what made him hate the guy more. Like, how could he be arrogant _and_ back it up with skill? It just wasn’t funny.

 

The metal stool next to Woojin’s scraped back across the shop’s tiles and he didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. “Sup, Seungmin?”

 

“H-h-hey,” Seungmin stuttered out. He sounded surprised that he was being directly addressed.

 

Woojin barely paid him any mind. The shy little guy barely spoke.

 

“You d-d-doing okay, Woojin?”

 

“Yeah, man. You?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Cool.” In the video, Woojin watched as Fortune whispered to his squad, asking for suggestions on an escape route since they’d gotten themselves boxed in. The GoPro, mounted on top of Fortune’s helmet, whipped from left to right. Woojin recognized Chariot’s mask and Jacque’s big goggles. Fortune said something Woojin couldn’t determine and then the camera turned towards Scylla. He was standing so close to the camera that Woojin really only could see his chin and half his neck.

 

Seungmin leaned close. “W-w-what are you watching?”

 

Woojin lowered the volume of Fortune’s video, figuring that he was bugging the guy. More people were dragging into the lab now. Everyone looked bleary-eyed and in foul moods this early on a Monday. Someone had brought what smelled like biscuits and Woojin’s stomach growled. He hadn’t had breakfast. “Nothing special. Just something I randomly found.” A partial lie. He usually didn’t watch stuff in class. It was kind of a secret rule of his. Something about the sound of gunshots first thing in the morning didn’t really sit well with a lot of people.

 

“I... I see.” Seungmin made a strained noise in the back of his throat. A nervous chuckle held back at the last second.

 

Finally, Woojin glanced up at him. “What’s with you?” Seungmin looked pale and shaky. “You sick or something?” Then an idea occurred to him. “Wanna cough on me so I can catch what you have and take a few days off?”

 

Seungmin’s mouth flattened. His eyes went wide in shock. “Uhh…”

 

“A weird request. Sorry, man. Ignore me.” Woojin went back to his video.

 

“How was your w-weekend?” Seungmin mumbled. He obviously couldn’t get a handle on his words. “What d-d-did you do?”

 

“Nothing,” Woojin repeated, this time with a bit more malice in his tone. What was Seungmin’s issue? The underclassman usually sat with some weird horror manga hidden inside his textbook like he was still in high school or something. This was college. He could procrastinate and not pay attention out in the open. “Nothing at all, Seungmin.”

 

“Really? Umm. You… You didn’t do anything… fun?”

 

What was with all of this _conversation_? On his phone, Fortune had done some kind of parkour move from one section of the factory roof to the other. He tossed a ‘grenade’ down a busted skylight and QUADRA KILL blazed onto the screen. “I stayed home all weekend,” Woojin lied. Anything to cut the conversation short.

 

“I see,” the meek boy next to him mumbled, sounding... disappointed?

 

Woojin turned to look at him, wondering if Seungmin had an ulterior motive for being so chatty today. It couldn’t be to fish for homework. There hadn’t been any over the weekend and that was why Woojin had spent his days out on the airsoft fields. The class had an upcoming practical exam but it wasn’t exactly like you could study for those. Woojin couldn’t think of anything the guy wanted out of him so he decided to be more direct: “You need something from me?”

 

The tiniest splotch of red washed over Seungmin’s face which he attempted to hide with a hand over his cheek. For a long second, he just stared at Woojin. Then, “Actually, I was wondering… I was wondering if you had…” He leaned towards Woojin and then whispered conspiratorially. “I was wondering if you had anything to say to _me_?”

 

“Huh? Why?” Woojin scowled.

 

“You know… after… after all of that?”

 

“Uhhh…” Woojin had no clue what the guy was going on about. After all of that? All of _what_? Seungmin was just his classmate. Some guy who sat next to him in lab. They weren’t exactly friends. They only talked to discuss classwork. In fact, Woojin wouldn’t even know the guy’s name if it weren’t for the professor’s blatant favoritism, always calling on the smart kid to answer questions. “Why would I have something to say to you?”

 

Seungmin pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and turned ever so slightly away. “Oh. Oh… Nevermind then.”

 

Woojin raised an eyebrow. Was the guy actually feeling under the weather? He wasn’t making sense. “You okay?”

 

The underclassman bit his bottom lip and made an obvious effort to avoid looking in Woojin’s direction. “Yeah.”

 

When the silence dragged on awkwardly thin, Woojin said “Well, okay then” and returned his attention to Fortune’s video. He had to admit that he did a lot of hate watching. Fortune talked so much shit in his vids, trash-talking his opponents while the GoPro recorded his airsoft kill streaks. Fortune was one of his rivals and, logistically, Woojin knew he was doing nothing but helping Fortune’s channel grow by keeping up with the dude’s uploads but Woojin also watched them to boost his own ego. He watched the clips from games where he knew his squad had come up against Scylla’s and it was always interesting to see the skirmish play out from the opposing perspective. How much time they put into seriously planning an encounter with Woojin’s squad. Fortune had given Wraith’s team their own theme song! It was annoying how Fortune always chopped and screwed it but it was a theme song! Plus, it was always a bit thrilling to hear Jacque yelp, “Shit! It’s Wraith!” before turning tail and running like he was escaping a horror movie villain. Or hear Scylla command, “Take out that bitch Marquis first.” Their panic delighted him. Encountering him was apparently like running into a cryptid or something and Woojin felt like he was doing something right if it meant having Scylla’s crew on edge like that.

 

Well, he wouldn’t find that in _this_ vid.

 

His squad hadn’t been there.

 

This time, Woojin admitted, he was watching just to catch mere glimpses of Scylla’s frame. Just a fraction of anything! His gloved hands on his rifle. The back of his head in the distance. Anything! Woojin should hate the guy. He should. He _did_. But a part of him idolized Scylla. Longed for him like a fan longed for an idol.

 

An ill-timed flashback of kneeling in front of Scylla’s dominating frame made an electric thrill whirl towards the center of Woojin’s gut. It was like being snapped back into reality. Woojin shut his phone off and shifted a bit in his seat. God. He couldn’t deal with such fiery thoughts right in the middle of class. The professor had just walked in! He had to think about anything and everything but Scylla staring down at him, towering above him, commanding him to suck his--

 

“Hey,” Seungmin half-whispered. Almost right into his ear. “About Saturday afternoon. I--”

 

Woojin jumped, startled by his proximity. “What are you talking about?” Then movement at the window in the door caught his attention. Someone tall and skinny, waving a beckoning hand. “Look. I’ll be right back.” He stood up and crossed the room towards the door, sliding it open and stepping out into the hall.

 

It was Hyunjin, the guy he had afternoon classes with. What the hell was he doing on campus so early? He usually didn’t get out of bed until noon.

 

“He stood me up. Again.” Hyunjin’s voice was quite calm despite his words.

 

Woojin nodded slowly. Ahh. Now he knew why Hyunjin was here. He wanted to vent. Some more. Like last night over beer and chicken hadn’t been enough. At least now Woojin knew the reason behind that feast. “I don’t get why you two keep trying to make it work.”

 

“We’re into each other,” Hyunjin huffed.

 

“But you’ve never even met him.”

 

“We connect!” Hyunjin folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to appear standoffish but it really looked more like he was hugging himself, comforting himself. “He called late Saturday morning to tell me something came up. That he had to be somewhere.”

 

“Isn’t it like this every weekend?” Woojin glanced over his shoulder towards the classroom door behind him when he heard his professor start to speak. He turned back towards Hyunjin with new urgency in his tone. “And didn’t you have somewhere to be Saturday, too? Whatever it was? It was all you could talk about.”

 

“Yeah, but…”

 

“This is so weird. You’re usually the one telling me to stop fretting about my crush.” Woojin forced a smile at the irony of Hyunjin not knowing it was him that Woojin was fretting over.

 

Hyunjin looked up at him. His inky black hair was pretty and wavy and hung nearly past his shoulders. Shampoo commercial-worthy. He said, “Now you can return the favor and talk some sense into me for a change.”

 

"I'm trying. It's just not clicking. Look, Hyunjin… maybe you should block him or whatever. If he keeps stringing you along like this, he’s probably not even real. I mean… he’s real but... he's not who he says he is. He's just catfishing with someone else’s pics and he can’t actually meet you without destroying the illusion he's built up.”

 

Hyunjin rubbed his bottom lip with his finger. That was indeed one of the guy's worries, Woojin figured, but hearing it from someone else probably rubbed him the wrong way, judging by the skeptical tilt of his eyebrows. “He sends me pictures.”

 

Woojin didn’t need to know all of that. “God. Of his face?”

 

That made Hyunjin hesitate. “Of places he goes and things he sees that reminds him of me.”

 

Welp. That was corny as fuck. “But... not his face?”

 

The guy went silent. The evidence piling up against him. “We’re into each other.” He kept saying it like it was a magic spell he was trying to cast.

 

Woojin rolled his eyes. “There’s got to be a million other guys on that app. Just find somebody else.” _Like me_ , he added in his head.

 

Hyunjin looked up at him with such intention in his eyes that Woojin almost believed he’d said that last part aloud. Then Hyunjin shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll give him one more chance.”

 

“That’s what you said last weekend.” And the weekend before last.

 

“The conversations are _great_.”

 

“Yeah… conversations…”

 

“No, I'm for real. No sex talk,” Hyunjin protested. He uncrossed his arms. “We actually talk.”

 

“It’s a hook-up app,” Woojin reminded him. “What’s there to talk about except a time and place?”

 

“Lots of things! Like… like career goals and shit. Academic advice. Music and video games and shit.”

 

“Bullshit you can talk to _anyone_ about.”

 

“He’s stupid smart,” Hyunjin went on, ignoring him. “And the pics on his profile… He’s cute.” He shoved a hand in his pants pockets as if searching for his phone.

 

Woojin held up his hand. “Don’t show me.” The last thing he wanted to look at was the guy that kept Hyunjin from literally seeing who was in front of him. “I gotta get to class. You gonna stay on campus for a bit?”

 

Hyunjin paused in his phone search. He looked a little dazed. “Uhh. I was gonna hit the shooting range.”

 

Better than him moping around. “We can meet up in the cafeteria after I’m out of here. What do you say?”

 

“Alright then. Sorry to keep you, man. I just wanted to swing by. Didn’t mean to spill my guts.”

 

“Sure you did.”

 

Hyunjin smiled, starting to look more like his usual cheerful self. “Thanks.”

 

“Anytime,” Woojin told him. He waited until Hyunjin had walked the length of the corridor and turned the corner at the end of the hall before he slipped back into the shop and crossed the room, not caring that he was walking right through the shop in the middle of the lecture. He slowly sank into his chair and rummaged in his backpack for his notebook and pencil bag.

 

Seungmin watched him the whole time.


	3. The Id, The Ego, The Superego

Woojin had to remind himself sometimes that he’d already seen Hyunjin’s dick. Photos of it. Several photos. _Numerous_ , even. Oh, and one gloriously messy video. Yeah. He had to remind himself of such things because he’d been in the hopeless desert so long that he’d forgotten what water from the oasis tasted like.

 

He recalled how their odd little thing started.

 

It had been at the tail end of the summer before last. August. Hyunjin had just moved to town to attend school and, as a result of his close proximity, his profile had shown up in Woojin’s search results while he was ass hunting on a hook-up app. A romantic start.

 

Honestly, Hyunjin’s profile pic was the kind that Woojin usually scrolled right past: a smiling face, a grinning dog, too much sunlight glaring from the corner and washing everything out. Woojin hated shit like that. That was the kind of photo for Tinder not Grindr. It was too heavy a reminder of things like ‘personalities’ and ‘hobbies.’ Woojin usually only tapped on typical torso pics and made a final decision based on what their other pics looked like. He refused to feel guilty about that. It was a hookup app! He and every other dude on it was only there for one thing. Really, Woojin had only tapped Hyunjin’s profile out of desperation. He’d been the first new face in days. Fortunately, Hyunjin’s other pics had done him justice. They were better lit. Properly showed his face and body. Didn’t have any dogs in them. Made sifting through the giant walls of text on his profile worth it. Hyunjin was good looking. Editorial fashion model attractive with thick, plump, pink lips and a fashion style that switched from preppy to punk to business casual depending on the photo. He could pull off any look but Woojin would rather see him naked which was why he bit the bullet and sent the first message.

 

They’d talked for about an hour or two that first evening, exchanging the usual formalities and pleasantries, the slow build to an opportunity where it was a bit more appropriate to dive into the risque. Hyunjin had explained that he was new to town - had just finished moving in! - and Woojin offered to show him what few good clubs and bars there were in the area. The two of them didn’t have too much in common, actually. Hyunjin liked bubblegum pop, Woojin preferred hard-hitting trap. Hyunjin wanted to be a police officer while Woojin was still holding on to his lofty dream of becoming a race car driver. He’d even signed up for a driving school to get his certification and had sent a photo of himself in the school’s slick racing jacket as proof. Hyunjin had thought the jacket was hot. Woojin had offered to fuck him while wearing it which resulted in Hyunjin asking if there were any authentic sushi restaurants in town. When Woojin feared that their talk would stay too light and conversational, Woojin had unlocked his private pics for Hyunjin and, not too long after, Hyunjin had did the same for him.

 

The guy was already hot but, naked, he was a true discovery of beauty.

 

Something about that long, lean torso of his and those surprisingly pink nipples. That skinny waist yet those wide hips! His dick wasn’t much, nice and palm-sized, but it was pretty. He shaved, which only accentuated its gentle, downward curve. Hyunjin didn’t have much of an ass, either, but it was shaped nice and Woojin told him so repeatedly, all in hopes of being granted permission to bury his face in it. Hyunjin never seemed to warm up to the idea of fucking around, though, which Woojin found odd because the guy sent him fresh-out-the-shower photos too often to be anything but an invitation yet he gently turned down Woojin’s offers to hook up.

 

Three or four days of such titillating madness later and Woojin was good and ready to just block the dude and settle for yet another dick appointment with Changbin when he showed up to the first day of class after orientation and locked eyes with Hyunjin from across the room.

 

The recognition was instant.

 

It was stupid. It felt too coincidental to be real. Like something out of a movie or a cheesy erotic novel but there Hyunjin was, smiling at him and waving him over like they’d been friends for ages instead of randoms on a hookup app discussing each other’s nudes like they were art historians having a round table about Gian Lorenzo Bernini art pieces.

 

That’s where the big problem was, Woojin had thought then. Whenever he told Hyunjin about how great his abs or his back or his ass or his dick was, perhaps he’d been too poetic. The two of them sending so many nudes back and forth had been an art exchange not spank bank deposits. He should’ve just asked ‘wanna fuck’ from the get go. Saved himself, and probably Hyunjin, some time. They could’ve realized they weren’t after the same thing far earlier and gone their separate ways. Then Woojin wouldn’t have spent twenty whole entire fucking months lusting after Hyunjin while watching Hyunjin lust after other dudes.

 

Like he was doing right then and there in the cafeteria after his morning class.

 

Hyunjin happily exclaimed, “This one right here is from a few days back. He wanted to show me the new watch he bought.”

 

“Sounds swell,” Woojin said noncommittally. He glanced up at the photo on Hyunjin’s phone long enough to get a feel for the black and rose gold watch hanging off some dude’s slim, pale wrist. Already uninterested, his gaze wandered across the cafeteria looking for anything or anyone more fascinating.

 

“And this is a pic he took the other week,” Hyunjin said, scrolling to a different photograph.

 

Woojin barely paid attention. He chewed his cafeteria food in silence, not wanting to listen to Hyunjin gush about this guy who was _so great_ but who kept ditching their dates, who kept being a no-show. It wouldn’t be so annoying if he hadn’t told Hyunjin repeatedly to give the dude up. He was a catfish, using somebody else’s photos and probably stringing Hyunjin along _knowing_ that they’d never meet up. “If he starts asking you for money, don’t send him any.”

 

Hyunjin laughed. “What? Don’t be silly. He has a job.”

 

“Like what?” Woojin huffed. He was probably some closeted salaryman with a wife and kids or something.

 

“He won’t give me details,” Hyunjin stated. “Said he doesn’t want me to look him up.”

 

“Are you colorblind? Because that red flag is right there just waving and fluttering in front of your face.”

 

“Woojin, please,” Hyunjin pouted. “I think he’s a celebrity of some kind. Or maybe he’s an idol.”

 

“Or maybe he’s a serial killer.” The suggestion wasn’t too uncanny, all things considered. “But if he was trying to kill you, the two of you would have met by now.”

 

“For the first and last time,” giggled Hyunjin. “Here is a pic of him with a golden retriever who he visits at the shelter.” Hyunjin flipped to yet another photo.

 

Woojin stared at it long enough to spot the large dog stretched out on the floor. A figure in a black shirt was leaning over the dog, petting them, but they were turned so far away from the camera that Woojin couldn’t see their face. All he could tell was that the guy had bleached his hair about as light and gold as the dog’s fur. “That could be anyone,” he stressed.

 

“It’s him,” Hyunjin insisted. “I know you’re looking out for me but… I know him. I recognize him. With as many photos as we share, I can spot the tiniest things. It’s him.”

 

Woojin shoved a forkful of food in his mouth and spoke with it full, “Can you do that with me, too?” He’d asked it to be mean.

 

“Yeah,” Hyunjin said without hesitation, not taking his eyes off of his phone. “I look at your photos so much that there’s a lot of things about your naked body I can recognize at a glance.” Such words should have been smoking hot but they sounded dry. Hyunjin’s tone had morphed them so that they sounded as benign as a doctor in the middle of an examination. “But look,” Hyunjin said excitedly, “here he is with a corgi!”

 

Woojin didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care about dogs. He frowned and crammed more food in his mouth, chewing like a starved man. “Does it not bother you that you haven’t seen his face?”

 

Hyunjin’s smile shorted out. “I’ve seen everything else, though. _Everything_ else.”

 

“He’s just playing you, Hyunjin. How long has this been going on? Two months? And he won’t show you his face? Won’t meet you? Always coming up with excuses?”

 

Hyunjin pressed his lips together and furrowed his eyebrows in frustration but he said nothing. He knew Woojin had a point. “We get along,” he insisted. “Not knowing what he looks like doesn’t change that. And he keeps promising me he’ll show me his face. He’s not out so it’s tough on him.”

 

 _Maybe_ Woojin could cut the dude some slack. He’d fucked around with a DL dude before. There was a whole lot that they stressed about and fought with themselves over that Woojin hadn’t put thought to since elementary school. “Do you at least know his fucking name?”

 

“Felix,” Hyunjin answered.

 

Woojin let out a shaky breath. “Sounds fake.” What was that DL dude’s name? Christopher? “Let me guess. He’s from Australia?”

 

Hyunjin gasped. “How did you know?”

 

Woojin almost thought he was joking but the look of surprise on Hyunjin’s face did not falter. “You can’t be serious,” he grunted. “He’s just toying with you, Hyunjin. He’s not real.” At least Christopher had been real. At least that dick had been real. The only reason why he didn’t think this Felix dude was just Christopher with a new name was because the body types were too different. Felix was too slim. Christopher had been… _bulky_. “Give him an ultimatum. Make him show you a face pic or you’ll block him.”

 

“I’m not going to do that to him.”

 

Woojin shoved another forkful of food into his mouth just to keep from yelling. Just thinking about it pissed him off and it worried him that Hyunjin wasn’t even the tiniest bit upset. Sure, he’d been lured in by ‘faceless’ dudes on the hookup app before. It’s how he’d fucked Changbin, after all, but at least they’d _met_. At least he knew what Changbin looked like even if he wasn’t much to look at. “Doesn’t it piss you off, though,” Woojin had to ask. “Getting your hopes up for a date or whatever only for him to wait until the last second to just be like ‘whoops, I’ve suddenly got somewhere better to be?’”

 

“He’s never said anything like that. He really is upset that our schedules never let us meet. I mean, he travels because of his job and I’ve got to go to school and my weekend gigs.”

 

“If it’s not gonna work, move on. Or at least stop telling me about it.”

 

“Shit,” Hyunjin hissed. “Sorry.”

 

The hurt look on his face made Woojin feel guilty. He almost opened his mouth to apologize, but then--

 

“Maybe you should stop telling me about that guy who doesn’t notice you?”

 

Woojin barked out a laugh. “Touche.”

 

“We’ve both got shit tastes,” Hyunjin stated. “Looking for relationships where we aren’t going to get them.” He locked his phone, laid it flat on the table between them and picked up his utensils to finally start eating even though Woojin had nearly finished his plate.

 

Woojin pressed his luck. “You’ve seen my face. Why can’t _we_ date?”

 

Hyunjin must have thought it a joke. He slumped forward onto the table, his shoulders trembling as he laughed. “You’re so funny, Woojin.”

 

“Glad you think so.” Woojin forced a laugh to hide his desperation. He didn’t know why he did this to himself. Why he put up with this constant barrage of pain and torture. He should have blocked Hyunjin on that app as soon as he found out they’d be in the same class. Really, what would be the point of continuing to message the guy if he wasn’t getting any ass out of it? But, dammit, it had only taken a month or so of showing Hyunjin around school, around the neighborhood, around town, for Woojin to start catching feelings. Hyunjin was just… so simple to like. Easy on the eyes. Decent humor. The sense of familiarity that only came with seeing someone orgasm, even if it was only through a pixelated video feed.

 

They _got along_.

 

Woojin realized with some horror that it was the very same reasoning that Hyunjin still held a torch for his mystery Felix fellow. He said, “Liking him like that makes it hard to give up on him, doesn’t it?”

 

Hyunjin looked up at him. His expression was pensive at first, hesitant, but then his smile slowly eased back onto his face as he caught on to the fact that Woojin was no longer goading him into a fight. “If it was anybody else, I’d be over it.”

 

Woojin grit his teeth. He stared at Hyunjin for a long and painful second, thinking the exact same thing: _If it was anybody else..._

 

Shit.

 

Woojin scraped his fork across his plate, angrily scooping up the last few crumbs of his meal. Things would be so much easier if Woojin could block Hyunjin in real life! ...but they went to the same school and were going after degrees with quite a few overlapping general education courses. If they’d hooked up back then, nearly two years ago now, things probably would have been even more awkward between them, as often as they ran into each other now. But, as it stood, they were simply friends who sent each other artistic nudes by night and sat in class and talked about crushes like high schoolers during the day.

 

“Hey, he sent me this spectacular nude this morning. Wanna see?”

 

Yeah, things were much, much worse now.

 

“Hey, W-W-Woojin.”

 

Woojin shook himself loose from his thoughts and glanced up.

 

Seungmin stood next to their cafeteria table, tray in hand. He was so nervous that Woojin could hear the plate rattle as the guy’s hands shook.

 

“Hey,” Woojin said back casually. Carefully.

 

“Can I sit here?”

 

“I don’t know. Can you?” Woojin mumbled. Was Seungmin going to be like this _all day_? They rarely spoke to each other outside of the classroom so Woojin had no idea what signal he gave to have Seungmin thinking they were buddies.

 

“You’re Seungmin, right,” Hyunjin asked.

 

Seungmin almost jumped out of his skin. “Uhh. Yeah. Yeah. H-h-how did you know?”

 

Hyunjin waved a hand in Woojin’s general direction. “I heard from him.”

 

“You two… The t-two of you talk about me?” Seungmin squeaked.

 

“No. Not like that. Don’t worry. Sit. Sit.”

 

“T-thanks.” Seungmin nearly sent his tray to the floor as he circled the table and eased himself into the chair next to Woojin’s.

 

Woojin side-eyed him warily until the water in Seungmin’s glass stopped sloshing around.

 

“You want to join our club,” Hyunjin asked.

 

“What club,” Woojin and Seungmin repeated simultaneously. Woojin added, “We’re in a club?”

 

Hyunjin snickered. “I haven’t come up with a name for it yet but it’s definitely a club for guys who are shit at picking up guys.”

 

Seungmin smiled nervously. His cheeks went about as coppery-red as his hair. “Guys, huh?”

 

“Did I guess correctly? You’re into them, right?” Hyunjin propped his elbows up on the table and leaned close, attentive.

 

Seungmin bit his bottom lip and shrank in his seat beneath the sudden spotlight. “I can be.”

 

Hyunjin said, “Well, I’m crushing on a dude I’ve never met. Never even seen his face but I’ve gotten attached to his persona. There’s a high chance he’s a sociopath.” He pointed his fork in Woojin’s direction. “This guy.”

 

“Please don’t include me in this bullshit,” Woojin complained.

 

“This guy,” Hyunjin went on, “is currently neck-deep in something unrequited. Flirts all of the time with the guy but apparently he just doesn’t get it. A super oblivious classmate.”

 

“C-c-classmate?” Seungmin stuttered out. He shoved his hands between his thighs to still their shaking. “Woojin l-l-likes his classmate?”

 

“Uh huh,” Hyunjin confirmed. “So what’s _your_ deal? Or are you lucky and actually made it into a relationship?”

 

“I’m single, but…” Seungmin hesitated for a very long time, finding the contents of his plate the most interesting thing in the world before looking up and fixing his gaze on Woojin’s side profile as he sucked down the last of his soda. “T-t-this guy… I-- We play this game together.” He stared back down at his plate of food.

 

“Online?” Hyunjin asked. “Something competitive?”

 

“Uhhh…” Seungmin lifted a hand and made a miming gesture with his fingers.

 

“A shooting game,” Hyunjin interpreted. “Overwatch? Battlefield V? Call of Duty? Apex Legends? Fortnite? Good god, please don’t tell me it’s Fortnite.”

 

“No. Well... No. Not that. Basically,” Seungmin unhelpfully replied. “It’s… No. Not exactly. It’s r-r-really similar to that.”

 

Hyunjin leaned even farther across the table as if this were all a TV show or a movie that he didn’t want to miss a single frame of. “So you play together. Probably in party chat all the time. You fell in love with his voice? Are you like me and don’t know what he looks like?”

 

“I know w-w-what he looks like.” Seungmin pushed his glasses back up his nose where they had begun to slide. “Well, I didn’t know until last weekend.”

 

“And he’s a hottie, isn’t he? Now you want him?”

 

“It’s… It’s weird. I mean… He’s someone that I already knew.”

 

“In real life?” Hyunjin whistled high, super impressed. “What a small fucking world.”

 

“I recognized _him_ , but…” Seungmin glanced towards Woojin, too subtly for Hyunjin to catch. “I doubt he r-r-recogn-- knows that it’s me.”

 

Woojin reached for a napkin and dragged it across his mouth and chin. This stupid conversation was going to turn his brain to fucking gravy. Now would be as good a time as any to grab his shit and leave. “I’ve got class,” he lied, then he grabbed his tray and stood up.

 

🏳

 

That night, Woojin logged into the hookup app and sent Hyunjin a nude of himself that he hoped would make the dude forget about Felix or whoever that guy online was pretending to be.

 

Not even thirty seconds later, Hyunjin replied to the photo with “Turn around.”

 

Fuck. Had he finally awakened the beast?

 

It took some doing, some trial and error, toying around with the angles and poses, but Woojin managed to snap a pic of his back and ass in the floor-length mirror of his bedroom. He sent it fully expecting to get complimented or at least recieve some kind of photo or video proof that he’d finally wriggled his way onto Hyunjin’s radar. But...

 

“What happened to your shoulder,” was Hyunjin’s reply.

 

Woojin didn’t even know what the dude was talking about until he checked his reflection and spotted the purplish bruise from Scylla’s bullet. Hellhound’s rushed bandage job on Saturday hadn’t held up long so he’d snatched off the gauze Sunday morning, carelessly leaving the wound beneath exposed. Woojin groaned in frustration. He’d sent Hyunjin _all of that_ but the guy only noticed a tiny little splotch on his skin? Then Woojin recalled that Hyunjin had apparently committed his body to memory so of course something new like a bruise would stand out to him. Being admired like that. Being studied and memorized. It would be such a hot thought if Hyunjin actually knew what to do with such talent. “Just a scratch,” Woojin sent.

 

“Can you send me a clearer pic,” Hyunjin typed.

 

Of the bruise? And not his dick or ass or anything? Woojin rolled his eyes in frustration. “No,” he sent and then exited the chat, his mood spoiled.

 

He crossed his room and flopped over onto his bed, the cotton of his comforter smooth and soft against his bare, tanned skin.

 

His mind felt blank. Hollowed out. Empty.

 

Then one thought made itself clear: this thing with Hyunjin was getting old. The dude was such a tease and probably wasn’t even remotely aware of his good looks, of his power! He sent Woojin his nudes _for fun_ , not to fuck! It was lunacy and Woojin just about had it up to here.

 

He raised his phone in front of his face and let his thumb hover over the block button.

 

It wouldn’t have been the first time. It probably wouldn’t be the last.

 

Unable to go through with it, he exited off of Hyunjin’s profile and returned to the app’s main screen; the long column of profile pics of dudes in his area.

 

Changbin crossed his mind. His only option, to be honest.

 

With a weary, exhausted sigh, he brought up the dude’s profile.

 

His photos weren’t much. They lacked Hyunjin’s artistic sensibilities and his eye for angles and lighting. Just like a lot of other things about him, Changbin’s pics were... plain. A handful of shots of just him in a tank top and sweats, showing off his sweaty, glistening body in a moisture-streaked gym mirror. His phone held _just so_ to block his face from view. His private pics weren’t too different. Same gym mirror. Same thick muscles. Except now his dick print was visible in his sweats, curving out towards his hip in a way that made it obvious he was going commando. Changbin’s last photo was a brave, exhibitionist shot. He had slid the waistband of his pants down to reveal his mushroom head dick, right there in the gym, other people on the equipment clearly visible in the background.

 

They were the same nine photos Changbin had had on his profile since last year but he wasn’t the type of guy to change too much. Personality-wise or in bed. Perhaps he had put on a bit more weight, more muscle, since last fall but that was it. Even his unfortunate bowl-cut hair hadn’t changed. Last winter, he had grown it out a little more, to something a bit fluffier and flattering and attractive, but he’d gotten it cut mushroom-style again so Woojin knew he was doing it on purpose, that he _liked_ it like that. Woojin also knew it wasn’t his place to complain about it. Changbin was just a hook-up. They weren’t _together_ so who was he to complain? Who was he to want something more? Something… else? Woojin only wished the dude took better pics of himself. His photos didn’t... accurately display his height. Or length. Or lack thereof.

 

But oh well… It was a small town and beggars couldn’t be choosers. Especially if that beggar was hung up on the guy who friend zoned him two whole years ago.

 

Woojin messaged Changbin, sending him the same two photos that he’d sent Hyunjin not even five minutes earlier.

 

This time, at least, he got the response he wanted: “Can I come over?”

 

🏳

 

Tuesday evening, Woojin went down to the airsoft field for a quick skirmish. It was a weeknight. That meant fewer players - fewer squads - on each team. Quicker rounds. Higher turnaround. Less stress, in theory, but tell that to the sniper. Woojin needed a few hard and fast games to get all of his nervous, anxious energy out. He didn’t know where it was coming from. It’s not like he had any tests but that didn’t seem to matter. All day, he’d felt jittery. A sugar high he couldn’t come down off of. Seungmin had taken to following him around campus like a lost duckling. Really. What had Woojin done or said to make the guy pay so much attention to him? His constant presence had been annoying and Hyunjin readily accepting him didn’t help matters. It just gave the guy _permission_. Perhaps that was why Woojin was so on edge? The shy guy who only spoke in class when he got called on by the prof was suddenly using all of his spare words on Woojin. He hadn’t even been able to distract himself with work as it had been a particularly boring day at school. Nothing but passage reading. Rote memorization. Sitting around listening to professors drone on while the sun shone brilliantly outside. Hell, he’d skipped out on the last hour of his class today just to get outdoors and it was only by the grace of the almighty that Seungmin hadn’t followed him to the green.

 

“Whatever,” he mumbled to himself. “That’s Woojin’s problem. Not Wraith’s.”

 

So he stopped being Woojin and started being Wraith.

 

No magical girl transformation sequence. Just a change of mindset.

 

Wraith tied up his combat boots, fastened his gloves and then secured his goggles and mask to his face. Each piece of his equipment felt as tough as armor even though it was all cloth and plastic. His preparations complete, he strapped his sniper rifle over his shoulder. Not the brand new bolt-action he’d used over the weekend but his old gun. The familiar one. The one that wouldn’t fail him.

 

With cold determination, he left the noisy locker room filled with the shouts and laughter of the other players. He exited the main building and started across the baked, cracked desert sand towards the green team’s home base.

 

It was a hot day, especially for April, but dark clouds were starting to show up on the horizon. Depending on the speed of the wind, the organizers might cut tonight shorter than usual when the storm drew close.

 

Wraith looked out across the wide, flat, arid area. A decade or so ago, it had been a neighborhood but some kind of natural disaster - a monsoon, perhaps? - had decimated the area. Since it had already been quite low-income and rundown, the government did jack shit to rebuild so the whole area had sat empty and abandoned for years before the land got bought up and it was transformed into an airsoft field.

 

Unlike last weekend’s shit show of a game, this was Wraith’s home turf. His stomping ground. He knew every house, every stair, every wall, every trench. The only territory he was more familiar with than this were the veins up his dick. There would be no close calls tonight. He was determined to get through these games with no surprises.

 

At long last, he crossed the grounds to the fenced-in airsoft field. His badge was checked and his equipment was looked over by the staff members on duty and as soon as he had both of his guns back, he hoofed it towards the green team’s base. Soon as he swung open the door, he was almost immediately recognized and greeted by most of the other players. He was no sponsored YouTube sensation like Fortune but he still had a reputation. People still knew him. At least around here, they did.

 

“Wraith, my man,” Marquis cut his way through the crowd and walked up to him. He raised a gloved hand for a high-five.

 

“Marquis,” Wraith returned the greeting, slapping the man’s palm. “You’re… energetic.”

 

“Had a good day,” Marquis replied.

 

“You plan on having a good evening?”

 

Marquis squinted his eyes and made an obscene gesture near his belt. “You know it.”

 

“I’m talking about right here. Right now. On the field.”

 

“Of course. I’m just fucking with you.” Marquis slapped Woojin’s chest good naturedly. “If I actually had something lined up tonight, would I be _here_?”

 

Wraith peered over Marquis’s shoulder. “Hey, Jack Rabbit.”

 

“Sup,” the smaller man called out as he approached them. He adjusted his helmet, tightening the straps beneath his chin.

 

Wraith asked, “We haven’t scared you away, yet?”

 

“Pssh. You need me,” Jack Rabbit said with a cocky, crooked-tooth grin.

 

He was right. Without him, they’d be down a man. Of course, Wraith could ask anyone else on the field to fill in, but as picky as he was about who had his back out on the field, there was no way he could just ask _anyone_. He wouldn’t have even picked up Jack Rabbit if Marquis hadn’t so highly sang his praises.

 

“How much time until the round starts,” Wraith asked.

 

Several seconds of silence passed.

 

Marquis spared the briefest of glances his way before returning his attention to his pistol. It had a fresh decal on it, Wraith noticed. Regal gold and purple. Borderline obnoxious but it somehow suited him.

 

Wraith looked around. “Where’s Hellhound?” The guy always had the countdown.

 

“We’ve still got about fifteen minutes,” Jack Rabbit told him. “He’s got time.”

 

True. It had been nearly two years and even then, Hellhound had showed up for airsoft religiously. Wraith decided not to let his tardiness bug him.

 

“Everything in working order?” Wraith had to busy himself somehow.

 

“Just finished checking everything,” Jack Rabbit stated.

 

“What’s tonight’s strategy,” Marquis asked instead. He holstered his pistol and walked up to Wraith. “Attack Plan Delta? Or Attack Plan Gamma to mix things up?”

 

Neither option particularly appealed to him. “Is Scylla’s squad here,” Wraith replied. Because that fact by itself would determine whether Wraith _tried_ tonight or not.

 

“I saw Fortune’s big ass bright ass yellow ass Wrangler out front,” came a voice from behind them.

 

The three of them spun to look.

 

It was Hellhound towering above them. His jumpsuit was a mix of browns and rust-oranges and yellows, perfect for the dried-out wasteland of their home field.

 

“Good,” Wraith said. “That means we play for real.”

 

Marquis chuckled, only the slightest bit off-guard by the dark look in Wraith’s eye. “You’ve really got it out for that dude, don’t you?”

 

“And you don’t,” Wraith shot back.

 

“Not in the slightest. It’s just a game, dude.” Marquis shrugged and spun away. He really was only in it for the fun.

 

Jack Rabbit made a noise in his throat that sounded like agreement.

 

“How long until the round starts,” Wraith asked through clenched teeth. He could look up at the clock himself but asking Hellhound for the time before a match was the equivalent of praying before a meal. No matter what, it was never skipped.

 

“Eight minutes, twenty-six seconds,” Hellhound replied without even glancing at his watch.

 

“The Attack Plan,” Marquis insisted. “What’s the Attack Plan?” He was acting up to get on Wraith’s nerves. The sniper could tell by the tone of the man’s voice.

 

Before he could take a dig at the man, Hellhound’s voice cut through the air. A simple, dark, “Wraith.”

 

Hearing it like that made it sound cold and ghoulish. The way it was meant to be. Wraith slowly turned around to look at him. “What is it, soldier?”

 

Hellhound stepped towards Wraith. Got close. Way too close. Almost safety goggle to safety goggle. The move was borderline threatening and Wraith nearly backed away from him but Hellhound reached out a hand, gripped Wraith by the collar of his shirt and _pulled_.

 

Wraith stumbled into the taller man’s chest. “What are you doing,” he hissed. “You pissed at me about something? Wanna have a go at me?” He tightened his hands into fists. He didn’t know why the dude was starting a fight but he had no issues trying to finish one.

 

“Just checking your shoulder,” Hellhound said flatly. He yanked even harder on Wraith’s collar, pulling the material back towards his shoulder almost hard enough to rip the cotton.

 

Taking a step back, Wraith said, “Hands off.”

 

Hellhound didn’t listen. Now he was going at Wraith’s shirt with both hands, making the neck of it nearly choke Wraith up.

 

He swallowed a mouthful of air and grunted, “Watch it, bro. What the fuck.”

 

Marquis stepped forward, his hands raised and ready to referee in case something _did_ pop off. Jack Rabbit had the sense to step backwards.

 

Hellhound tore his gaze off of Wraith to stare Marquis down. He reiterated, “I’m just looking at his wound.”

 

“Shit. Ask next time,” Marquis huffed. “Had us thinking you were scrapping.” He propped his hands on his hips and stepped away, the trouble already behind him.

 

Hellhound gave one last tug and finally wrestled Wraith’s shirt far enough away from his neck to stare at his bare shoulder. At the purple bruise that blossomed on his skin like rose petals. Hellhound’s eyes were clearly visible beneath his safety goggles but his mood was unreadable.

 

It was the one time Wraith wished he could see the man’s entire face.

 

Hellhound met Wraith’s gaze for a short, hot moment. Some kind of emotion lit up in him but Wraith couldn’t tell what without seeing his nose or mouth. Hellhound let go of the older man and stepped back. When he spoke, his tone was light yet strained. Hesitant. Or maybe that was just the way it sounded through the cloth of his mask. “Did you put anything on it? Any ointment?”

 

Wraith took a moment to readjust his shirt collar. It didn’t _feel_ stretched. “No,” he replied. “I don’t care about that shit. It heals the way it wants to heal.”

 

Hellhound stared into his face for a second before dropping his gaze back to Wraith’s injured shoulder.

 

Preemptively, Wraith placed a hand on his neck to dissuade the man from going for his shirt again. “It’s fine.” He spun around and took a few steps just to put some room between himself and Hellhound’s fiery glare. What was everyone’s problem today? There must be something in the water. “If Scylla’s crew is on the field tonight, the easiest way to spot them would be to get to the roof of House 17 and scope out the other side of the dry river bed.”

 

As he spoke, Hellhound came up right behind him. He was so close that his body heat on the back of Wraith’s neck sent shivers up his spine. Hellhound squeezed Wraith’s shoulders and then ran his hands down Wraith’s arms as if checking for something else.

 

Wraith attempted to ignore his prodding. “House 17 gets us the farthest from the center of the field but it’s also got a covered patio thing that will keep eyes off of us if Jacque’s got a drone in the air.”

 

Hellhound’s hands danced upwards to the base of Wraith’s neck and then traveled down the center of his back like he was trying to be a chiropractor.

 

The touch made Wraith tense and pull away. “What are you doing?” He didn’t even give Hellhound a chance to answer. “Still checking for injuries? Bro, it was just an airsoft pellet.”

 

“Whatever you say,” Hellhound huffed at him. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. Then, like an afterthought, “Wraith.” Like he wasn’t sure he should say it. After an awkward pause, he picked up his assault rifle and trodded away, joining the rest of the green team as they lined up in front of the doors.

 

Wraith was so thrown off of his game that he forgot what he was doing, what he was even talking about. “We…” He paused. The announcer came over the intercom, running through quick safety rules. “We get to the roof of that house,” he picked up his train of thought, “we spot Scylla before Scylla spots us. We waste his whole squad.”

 

Marquis clearly wasn’t listening. “What’s with him,” he jerked his chin in the direction of Hellhound’s retreating back.

 

“I don’t know,” Wraith answered honestly, “but he better pick up the slack on the field.” There was something more important to discuss, however. “About Scylla--”

 

“What about the capture points?” Jack Rabbit cut him off. There was a lilt to his voice that made it obvious he was being a little shit. “What about the _objective_? What about the game? What about fucking winning?”

 

Wraith turned on his heel and joined the rest of the green team’s squads. The announcer counted down the last ten seconds before the start of the round. Five… Four… Three… Wraith said, loud enough for his squad to hear, “Scylla is the objective. Beating Scylla is winning.”


	4. Social Engineering

The liquor store between the pizza place and the movie theater hadn’t been Woojin’s intended destination (the city library, of all places, held such a title) but with the humiliating airsoft defeat still plaguing his every thought, the liquor store was where he wound up. He wanted to get drunk not exactly to drown his sorrows but at least to get them a little wet. Remind them that he was watching and had it out for them.

 

He walked up and down each aisle, passing the fridges full of beer and vodka and the display cases of wine and whisky. The store was rather busy for it to be so early on a weeknight, but that just made Woojin feel less guilty for being in there his own goddamn self. Everyone had problems to drink away, it seemed. He reached the far edge of the store where the more college-student-budget drinks were shelved. It was a school night and he deemed himself smart and classy and responsible enough not to get  _ completely _ shitfaced so, really, he’d only wanted to get a single can of a fruity malt beverage or something equally light on the alcohol content to help him take the edge off while he caught up on his studying, but...

 

“Woojin? Shit. Woojin. Hey.”

 

He had to stand on his tiptoes to catch sight of the top of Changbin’s head in the next aisle.

 

“Oh. Hi. Changbin.” Woojin gave him a cordial wave and tight-lipped smile, then figuring that was the end of the encounter, resumed his perusal of the shelves. Maybe two or three seconds passed, but then-

 

“Funny running into you here,” chirped Changbin, making moves to circle around the bottle-filled shelves to meet up with him.

 

Woojin looked up. He just wanted this to be a quick trip. He didn’t want to  _ speak _ . “Yeah. I guess it is. Small world and all.”

 

As the shorter man walked - no,  _ strutted _ \- towards him, it dawned on Woojin that this was their first time ever encountering each other outside of someone’s bedroom; a damn miracle all things considered. It was also the first time Woojin had ever seen Changbin in something other than a tank top and sweats and he found himself pleasantly surprised, a smidgen envious and perhaps just a touch aroused by how  _ decent _ Changbin looked in a leather jacket and biker jeans, hot iron curls in his hair and a heavy stripe of eyeliner smudged in his creases.

 

“Wow.” Woojin raised a hand and Changbin allowed him to card his fingers through his hair. “You look good,” he managed after snapping out of his amazement.

 

Changbin smiled. Giggled.  _ Blushed _ . “So do you.” Then he seemed to remember himself and where they were. He stepped back just enough for Woojin’s fingers to fall out of his hair. “You going to a party or something,” Changbin asked him.

 

“Fuck. Uhhh. Yeah,” Woojin lied. He put his hand in his own hair just to have somewhere to put it. “Friend of a friend’s got a big house out in the country.” There was no such friend and no such house but anything would sound better than drinking in his apartment alone.

 

Nodding, Changbin said, “We’re on our way to something ourselves.”

 

“We,” Woojin repeated.

 

Changbin shrugged like it was no big deal. “Yeah. Chan! Chan?” He looked around the store.

 

“Right here,” said a low voice with a thick, singsong accent.

 

Woojin turned around to look at the guy walking up behind him and he almost laughed out loud at the wild chance that he’d run into that DL dude Christopher he’d hooked up with a handful of months ago. He was going by Chan now?

 

Changbin slapped a hand down on Woojin’s shoulder and dug his fingernails into Woojin’s skin. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to hear Changbin’s pleas of ‘please don’t tell him, please don’t tell him.’ Aloud, Changbin said, “Chan meet Woojin, one of my best buddies.”

 

“Buddies. Right.” Woojin almost laughed again. He pried himself loose from Changbin’s hand.

 

Chan switched the large case of beer he was carrying from his right hand to his left and held his right out towards Woojin, offering a shake.

 

“Woojin, this is Chan,” Changbin continued, “one of my coworkers.” He stressed the last word. Just enough to make Woojin wonder if that was a lie, too. A cover story.

 

Chan gave his best smile. “Nice to meet you, Woojin.”

 

Oh, so  _ that’s _ what they were doing? Acting like they didn’t know each other? Like Woojin hadn’t spent an entire afternoon literally teaching Christopher how to suck dick? How to combat his gag reflex? How to  _ take it easy with the teeth _ ? He took Christo-- Chan’s right hand in his own and shook it. “Likewise, dude.” He glanced up. “That’s some pretty fucking wild leprechaun hair.”

 

“It was supposed to be red but now I’m a carrot.” Chan aggressively dug his fingernails into the back of Woojin’s hand in a way that despairingly implored ‘please don’t tell him, please don’t tell him.’ “I might cut it all off and try again later.”

 

The irony was like a torture device. Woojin had slept with both of these men - one just the other night! - but it was clear that neither of them wanted to be reminded of that truth when they weren’t sweating on his bedsheets. The masks were on and they were hiding in the shadows of the people they still wanted to be. Hell, they probably wanted to fuck  _ each other _ but Woojin could easily imagine that they were two anonymous, faceless torso pics with ‘Straight acting. No femmes. Can’t host.’ in their bio, too paralyzed by self-loathing to send the first message. Woojin peeled his hand out of the orange-haired man’s death grip and wiped Chan’s nervous sweat off of his palm by curling his fingers into the leg of his sweatpants. If he was even an iota more petty, he’d make some kind of sex-related remark to see if one or both of them would get flustered and defensive but he was trying very hard to be a better person. “Don’t get too wasted,” he warned them instead, “you’ll wind up at work tomorrow full of regrets.”

 

Chan forced a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah. Don’t wanna do that.”

 

Changbin stepped close but not too close. A familiar yet safe distance. “I’m going to be busy for two or so weeks,” he told Woojin, “so we might not get to... hang out as often as we used to.”

 

Hang out. Right. That’s what they were calling it now. “Sorry to hear that,” Woojin replied. He wasn’t even being a smartass. He was genuinely upset. With Changbin out of the picture, he’d be hard up for some ass unless he started scraping the bottom of the barrel.

 

At least Changbin had the good sense to look remorseful. “I’ll be in touch when I’m back in town.”

 

“Business trip?” Woojin glanced up at Chan, still trying to see through their facade. “You going with him?” It was a loaded question.

 

“No, it’s not a work thing,” Changbin quickly explained. “Some family stuff. That’s kind of why we’re partying tonight. A send-off. Kinda. Yeah.”

 

“Ahh, I see,” Woojin nodded slowly. He was still holding Chan’s gaze, though, begging with his eyes.

 

Whether it worked or not was difficult to determine. Chan suddenly found the floor more interesting.

 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” joked Changbin.

 

Woojin gave him a laugh. Everything pent up spilling free. Then he clamped it down. God. Fuck staying sober. He’d need something more potent than Seagram’s Escapes. “It was cool seeing you again, Changbin and… it was… nice meeting you…  _ Chan _ .” His patience with the awkward conversation having run completely out, Woojin pushed his way between them and started up the aisle, their calls of ‘see you later’ bouncing off his back.

 

🏳

 

Several hours later, Woojin stepped outside the sliding doors of his apartment building and stretched his arms above his head. His short-sleeved Pikachu shirt and loose-fitting gray sweatpants did little to fight back the evening cold but he hoped the night’s briskness would keep him alert. Sober him up a tad. He should have been in bed four or so hours ago but his spoiled mood and his pile of homework was keeping him awake.

 

Oh… and Hyunjin. Hyunjin was also keeping him awake.

 

Not even ten minutes ago, his classmate had sent him a message, asking him to meet. Anyone else on the planet sending such a message through Grindr would have gotten Woojin excited at the prospect of a hookup but he  _ knew _ Hyunjin which meant there absolutely wouldn’t be any hooking up. Absolutely none. Woojin was so exhausted. He was so sick and tired of this shit. He had an 8AM class to be up and ready for in less than a blink but here he was, at Hyunjin’s beck and call, dragging himself down six flights of stairs at four-something in the goddamn morning because Hyunjin wanted to fucking ‘talk.’ Not wanted, needed.  _ Needed _ to talk.

 

He sat himself down on the stairs outside of his building and waited for the world to stop spinning. To stop crumbling beneath him.

 

This was his life now. Right here. Right now. This was all it amounted to. Longing and pining and craving and dreaming and wishing and feeling miserable. Fists eternally clenched in frustration. Knees constantly sore from the amount of time he spent praying. Okay. That was a lie. He wasn’t that far off his rocker.

 

“If this was anybody else,” he mumbled. His eyes drifted closed. “If this was anybody else, I wouldn’t put up with this shit.”

 

It wasn’t like Hyunjin had been mean or anything. He wasn’t  _ making _ Woojin stay up till ass o’clock to meet him. In fact, the whole exchange had been super nice. A pleasant, “you still up” followed by a completely innocuous, “I’m in your neighborhood.” And Woojin, being as lovesick and whipped and vulnerable as he was on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, had dropped everything he was doing to accommodate the man’s spontaneity. If the earth were flat, he’d find the edge and hurl himself over the side for Hyunjin. He couldn’t tell if that was fucking pathetic or not. He couldn’t tell if he was only thinking that because he was drunk and dumb.

 

“Shit. You almost scared the shit out of me,” Hyunjin’s voice ate into his thoughts.

 

Woojin opened his eyes and sat up. He couldn’t quite tell if he’d dozed off or not but perhaps he had based on how heavy the chill had settled in his fingers. “Wasn’t trying to scare you. Just trying to sit for a bit.”

 

“You didn’t have to wait outside for me,” Hyunjin mumbled. “I told you I’d be a while.”

 

“It’s fine,” Woojin said, even as his breath left his mouth in a wispy fog. “My apartment’s a mess anyways. I need the fresh air.” That bit was the truth, at least. After running into Christo--  _ Chan _ and Changbin earlier in the night, he’d rushed back to his apartment with a case of beer and now his place had the hot, heavy, musky stickiness that only encroached on a living space when the heat was turned up a degree or two past uncomfortable and a lonely loser had chugged his way through multiple cans of beer and angrily, sloppily, needily jerked off three times in a row. “Don’t worry about me being cold. Just tell me what’s up. I’m here for you.”

 

Hyunjin approached the cement stairs Woojin was sitting on with an uncharacteristic timidness. His movements looked blurry around the edges like he was a ghost or a low resolution video getting pixelated. He drew close. “You’ve been drinking,” Hyunjin stated fact.

 

“I have,” Woojin replied. Not like it mattered.

 

Hyunjin hesitated at the bottom stair. “Really,” he said, “if you were busy, Woojin, you should’ve just said so. This could have waited.”

 

Woojin waved away his worries. “You said it was important, so how can it fucking wait?”

 

It wasn’t really like Hyunjin to be so unsure. Whatever he had to say must have been huge if he couldn’t just blurt it out. If he couldn’t send it in a message. “Fine. Fine. It’s the craziest thing to think about at four in the morning but I can’t stop thinking about it.” Hyunjin yanked the hood of his sweatshirt off of his head. “I could’ve messaged you, but… I wanted to see your face when I told you.”

 

Dangerous words. Borderline hazardous - nuclear - yet Woojin had grown immune to the radiation over the years. “Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. Sit down and  _ say it _ .”

 

Hyunjin made his way up the steps, squeezed past Woojin and sank down one or two levels above where Woojin lounged. That was the ‘sitting down’ part. The ‘saying it’ part continued to be a struggle for him. They sat in silence for several seconds.

 

The scent of Hyunjin’s body made its way up Woojin’s nostrils: mildly unwashed, a touch of sweat and a zing of hastily spritzed cologne. Beneath it, something sweet and citrusy like recently-eaten fruit or artificially flavored lip balm. It was a warm, natural smell that mixed together inside Woojin’s drunk-buzzed head and threatened to trigger an instinctual reaction in him. He ignored the feeling. Or, rather, he acknowledged it for what it was but fought it back like it was a horde of zombies clamoring for his throat. As the silence ticked on, he stared at the empty neighborhood street in front of them and suddenly wished that he’d at least brought his unfinished can of beer downstairs with him. He could use something to do with his hands. “What’s this about, Hyunjin? Really? You in some kind of trouble?”

 

“No. I just have… some feelings that I needed to air out,” Hyunjin admitted.

 

Great. Yet another venting session!

 

“It’s about you and me,” Hyunjin added, as if sensing Woojin’s disinterest.

 

That made Woojin twist around to stare up at his friend. “You and me,” he slurred lamely. Something like hope took flight between his ribcage. He couldn’t help it. His head was all over the place. The alcohol in his system made a brand new possibility light up like fireworks at the base of his skull. Had Hyunjin known about his crazy ass feelings all along? Did he miraculously reciprocate those feelings despite acting coy all of these years? Were they going to confess to each other and happily, lazily fuck and kiss like in the webnovels? All Woojin could hope for was that he wasn’t smiling like a giddy, batshit idiot. He said it again, “You and me.”

 

“I learned something and it’s important and I need to let you know before you find out in some other weird way.” Hyunjin met his eye.

 

Such heaviness. “Well… say it,” Woojin ordered, feeling his head pound alongside his quickening pulse.

 

Hyunjin didn’t say it. It was that strange, out of place shyness again.

 

Woojin frowned. “Dude. You need money or something? How much do you--”

 

“No. It… It’s not that. I think it might be good? It might  _ change _ things.”

 

Hyunjin’s hair had been yanked back into a tangled ponytail but now he reached for the band in his hair and tugged it loose, sending his dark, wavy locks across his forehead and over his ears. He slipped the band around his wrist and his slender fingers toyed with it in a nervous fit. He wore a simple black sweatshirt and thigh-length gym shorts but apparently even rushing to get dressed couldn’t diminish his hotness. Woojin gulped as he watched the other man’s fidgeting fingers. Really? How was the dude allowed to look so good just sitting there? His pretty little lashes, his slim little nose, his precious little moles. Somewhere over the last two years, Woojin couldn’t exactly determine when, the towering pyre of his lust had transformed into the towering pyre of his  _ appreciation _ . Maybe it was a good thing they were talking about ‘feelings’ right now because this would probably be the only time Woojin would ever be drunk enough and brave enough and willing enough to admit that he was helplessly in love with--

 

Wait.

 

Woojin wasn’t so plastered that he couldn’t spot something extremely important. “You shaved your legs,” he stated it more than asked it, looking up at Hyunjin’s face with something akin to divine awe on his expression.

 

They watched each other for several moments then Hyunjin said, “I know you like it when I do.”

 

It was a punch to the gut. The exact thing Woojin wanted to hear but stripped of all of its good parts because Hyunjin _ just didn’t realize _ . Woojin curled in on himself and sucked up a deep breath of cool air to keep his stomach settled. Yet even after all of that, all he could see, all he could think of, were Hyunjin’s sculpted calves. “Can I touch your legs?”

 

“Of course,” Hyunjin said. And why was it that something like  _ that _ didn’t make him hesitate? He even inched his foot - his bare heels squashing flat the backs of his low tops - a little closer to Woojin as if to give him more convenient access.

 

It hurt.

 

Hyunjin being so comfortable in his skin hurt. “I really do love it when you’re shaved.” Tentatively, Woojin lifted a hand and curled his fingers around Hyunjin’s smooth leg. The muscles beneath his palm were firm yet still pliant and he let his fingers knead into them. “God. That’s so hot.” Holy fuck. He didn’t even want to fuck Hyunjin. No. Wait. Even if they did fuck, Woojin needed to take time out beforehand to appropriately worship Hyunjin’s body. He knew he could spend hours just learning and exploring and tending to and memorizing every piece of Hyunjin and that would satisfy him more than fucking him would. Probably. Dammit, he was being too poetic again. He was noticing an awful pattern. “You really did all of this for me?”

 

“For  _ me _ , but… you’re the first to see,” Hyunjin said, almost ruining the moment with his nonchalance.

 

Woojin didn’t know what he was thinking. He leaned forward and kissed Hyunjin’s kneecap and that was how he was able to see straight down the expanse of Hyunjin’s gym shorts. His eyes went wide. “No underwear,” he commented.

 

Even this didn’t seem like all too big of a deal to Hyunjin. He chuckled and leaned back against the stairs as if to get even  _ more _ comfortable in front of Woojin. “Guess I forgot em.”

 

Woojin, his hand still wrapped around Hyunjin’s calf and his mouth still pressed to the man’s kneecap, couldn’t take his eyes off the treasure that lay sweetly pink at the bottom of the bright blue abyss of moisture-wicking odor-resistant 100% polyester. If he was a bit more of a wuss - if he’d had another half can of beer in him, for sure - he’d fucking cry. Tears of genuine happiness everywhere.

 

To test any possible limits, he let his hand trail further up Hyunjin’s calf, watching his classmate’s face for any reaction the entire time. His fingernails lightly grazed Hyunjin’s honey skin, moving across the back of his knee and up along the underside of Hyunjin’s thigh. Hyunjin didn’t break eye contact, which Woojin took as a green light. He gave the man’s thigh a tight squeeze. The muscles were harder here, firmer. Woojin decided to be a little braver and smash the boundaries between them for good. His hand pushed even further up Hyunjin’s thigh, his fingers getting warmer and warmer. Closer and closer.

 

As if on cue, Hyunjin broke his silence. “Felix and I are meeting up tomorrow morning.”

 

Woojin’s hand stilled. A slap across the face would have hurt less.

 

“For real this time,” Hyunjin went on.

 

His brand new excitement hurt. Woojin had been working on him for a solid minute but he hadn’t even gotten a sigh out of him yet just the thought of Felix had him smiling so bright he was putting the moon to shame.

 

Hyunjin continued, “We talked about it all afternoon. Trying to make it work, I mean. I’m skipping class and Felix is ditching work. We have a meeting place picked out and everything. Don’t worry. It’s a pretty public, busy spot but if we really hit it off, there’s a motel nearby.”

 

Now the shaved legs made more sense. Woojin felt sick.

 

“We’re going to make this happen, Woojin. We’ve been trying for so long. We’re  _ going _ to make it happen.” His desperation was so palpable that Woojin thought his own heart would break.

 

In fact, it did. “Is  _ that _ what you wanted to tell me?” That kind of bullshit really could have been saved for a message. Hell, he would have loved not to know at all!

 

“No,” Hyunjin responded. “I just thought you’d like to know.”

 

Woojin dropped his hand from Hyunjin’s leg. He pulled his face away from Hyunjin’s knee. It was because he was drunk, he told himself over and over, it was because he was drunk off his ass and stupid and exhausted that he felt  _ sad  _ right now. He was the biggest loser on the face of the damn planet and he’d done it to himself! “Hyunjin, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…” He turned around and faced forward, not even wanting to see Hyunjin out of the corner of his eye as he dredged up every ounce of beer-soaked conviction he had left in him. “You’re great. So great.” Not just  _ hot _ but kind and confident and amazing and fashionable and intelligent and courteous and willful and so so  _ so _ easy to fall in love with. “These past two years… I wouldn’t give it up for the world, you know. But I… I’ve been having a really fucking hard time lately and-” He was rambling. He was carrying on, spurred by the alcohol in his system and the chill in the April night air and being torn to absolute shreds by all of tonight’s bullshit. “-and I think it would be so much better for me, so much easier for me, if the two of us just stopped being--”

 

“I’m Hellhound,” Hyunjin confessed.

 

“--friends. Huh? What?” Woojin turned to look up at him again. “What did you say?” He actually hadn’t heard.

 

“I’m Hellhound,” repeated Hyunjin with a bit more volume and earnesty. “That’s--” He stood up, his cheeks red, his eyes slightly watery. “Wraith, I’m Hellhound. I thought you should know.” The words tumbled out of his mouth like he was trying to race Woojin’s reaction out into the open. “I’m Hellhound, your second in command. That’s what I wanted to tell you tonight. About you and me. Look. Something came up. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” Hellhound was already charging down the stairs two at a time and not even a pack of vicious, flaming dogs from the underworld could stop him.


	5. Facade

Woojin wasn’t dumb. Or so he told himself repeatedly.

 

No one would have noticed that Hyunjin and Hellhound were the same person! They were dots so far apart that anyone sane wouldn’t have connected them. Maybe. Surely.

 

Woojin had no reason to believe that there could be overlap between such significantly different worlds of his, as hard as he had tried to keep everything separate. School and airsoft were two different things. Like apples and oranges. Crack and meth. Grindr and Blued. Fucking similar but not… _similar_.

 

Or at least not similar enough.

 

He just had no reason to think that Hyunjin, of all people, was beneath Hellhound’s facade.

 

Hyunjin wasn’t anything like Hellhound… but then again, that was the actual point.

 

Out on the field, every man wore a mask. Figuratively. Sometimes literally.

 

Out there, they all went by code names and communicated with each other through grunts and signals and hand movements and half-whispers to avoid giving away their positions. They covered their faces with safety goggles and masks and faux fur and scarves and leaves and hats and helmets and war paint and it only took minutes of running around from capture point to capture point for everyone to be covered in dirt, dust, mud, sweat and grass stains. Body shapes became almost indistinguishable beneath camouflage rompers and ghillie suits and bulky ammo pouches and gear packs. In other words, recognizing someone by their looks wasn’t a particularly easy task and, through the scope of a rifle, a man was either a friendly or a target. Nothing else.

 

There wasn’t much space left for _identity_. Or, rather, all that they had out there was an identity… but a made-up one. A caricature. Playing airsoft was like putting on a Disney princess costume at an amusement park. All of them had crafted characters far different from the normal men beneath all the equipment. There was Marquis and his gaudy weapon decals and flashy, impractical, all-style gun tricks. Fortune and his shark mouth mask and over-the-top, downright disrespectful showboating. Jacque had that whole spider motif going, visually reminding everyone that he had little eyes everywhere and that his web of vision was inescapable. Even Jack Rabbit, fresh on the scene as he was, had carved out a niche aesthetic for himself with the faux fur accents on his outfit and the broken-off antler bits that hung on a thread around his neck like rosary.

 

Whoever they were beneath the characters, the champions, the legends, was a mystery to Woojin. Just like he wanted to keep the college boy that he actually was separated from his Grim Reaper alter ego.

 

As Wraith, he could be everything Woojin couldn’t be.

 

Wraith broke records and had earned accolades and prizes and trophies for his skills. Wraith was popular. Respected. Bigger than life! Couldn’t walk into the team base without being recognized. Sure, Fortune was a damn YouTube sensation but Wraith was a local hero. Outmatched by no one but Scylla. Their epic rivalry had even hit the sports section of the town paper several months back. Even if it was but a small little blurb shoehorned between ice hockey and baseball news.

 

Woojin, by stark contrast, was just a dull, lame Auto Engineering major half a year away from graduation who actually hadn’t accomplished much of anything and only had one good friend. A friend he was hopelessly in love with. A friend who, just last night, had admitted to knowing that he knew Woojin wasn’t _just_ Woojin.

 

And Woojin hated that.

 

He hated that he could no longer legitimately be himself; this person split in two.

 

Wraith was who he wanted to be; a culmination of all of his real and imagined good points: smart, suave, cool-headed, strong, and a respected leader to boot! To have someone in his life who also knew him as the loser rally race nerd made Woojin feel vulnerable. Open. It made him feel like a fraud who wore his airsoft gear like a turtle wore its shell.

 

And then there was Scylla.

 

Woojin had just about forgotten that Scylla _also_ knew both sides of him.

 

Somehow.

 

“Woojin?” Seungmin leaned closer to his face than he probably needed to. He smelled of cinnamon apple hand soap and one too many sprays of cheap cologne. “H-hey? Hello? Y-you okay in there in there in there?” Seungmin let his voice fade out in a cartoonish echo.

 

Woojin blinked hard and snapped out of his reverie. “Huh?” He got the sense that he’d been standing still, staring at nothing for a while.

 

Seungmin leaned even closer to him. “Are you okay?”

 

Instead of answering him, Woojin zoned out again. He felt like he was barely functioning and that was his own damn fault.

 

The two of them were in their morning shop class. The lecture section over, the lab section in full swing. The cement-floored garage was flooded with the chorus of revving car engines, shouted instructions, tool boxes banging about and drill bits whirring. The air was heavy with the stench of exhaust and oil and hot rubber. The garage doors had been rolled open, letting in gusts of crisp, spring air.

 

Seungmin backed away. “W-Woojin?” You... alright? For real?” He waved a hand in Woojin’s face.

 

Woojin’s eyes focused on the redhead who had just sat down in the chair he’d been a moment away from sinking into. ‘A moment away’ in this case meaning probably a minute ago, when he’d first made the executive decision to do so but instead had stalled like an engine where he was standing. He smacked Seungmin’s hand out of his face. “Get out of my fucking chair.”

 

Seungmin let out a rat’s squeak of a laugh. “You mean o-o-our chair, right? We’re working t-together on this.” He motioned in the direction of the fancy computer setup, the double monitors filled with diagrams and line graphs and pie charts, color-coded lists of equations, a Google doc full of hypotheses and written statements.

 

“Seungmin, get up,” Woojin huffed.

 

The guy pouted. Legitimately stuck his bottom lip out! “But Woojin…”

 

Woojin wasn’t in the mood for games. It was too early in the morning for this! “Stop goofing off.” He approached the chair and put a foot on the seat in an attempt to kick it - and Seungmin - out of his way.

 

Seungmin dug his heels into the floor to keep from moving.

 

The resistance made Woojin lose his balance. He gripped the armrest to right himself.

 

Seungmin smiled up at him playfully, an uncharacteristically mischievous glint dancing in his dark, sharp eyes.

 

“You’re the worst,” Woojin told him. “The absolute worst.”

 

“You finally figured that out,” Seungmin joked.

 

This was the last thing on the planet Woojin wanted to deal with. Especially on a morning like this one. He had taken two showers, brushed his teeth four separate times and gargled for about five solid minutes with his triple-strength mouthwash. Although he had scrubbed and squabbed the stench of alcohol from his mouth and body, the aftereffects still plagued his brain. It made every noise grate at his ears. Made his every thought turn cottony. Made every light source force him to squint. And he had been the one to warn Chan and Changbin about drinking too much on a weeknight!

 

“Do you wanna keep going?” Seungmin challenged.

 

Oh yeah. The buzzing in Woojin’s brain also made Seungmin’s obnoxiousness unbearable. “Get up. I’m not playing with you.”

 

“I’m not playing, either.” But Seungmin _was_ playing. He shifted forward in the chair, bringing them almost nose to nose.

 

It usually didn’t take but the tiniest bit of aggressiveness to make Seungmin squirm and cower but the guy was making it his life’s purpose to egg Woojin on today. “What. Is. With. You?” Woojin enunciated his words, speaking at a whisper.

 

Seungmin’s face was closer to him than he first thought. The guy’s minty fresh breath ghosted over Woojin’s skin when he said, “Just having fun,” and then he met Woojin’s gaze with complete defiance. “What’s with _you_?”

 

What the hell was _happening_ here? Had Seungmin gotten a personality transplant? This brattiness seemed so unlike him. Or maybe this was who he truly was beneath the introverted exterior. But that just meant Seungmin was comfortable enough around Woojin now to let his guard down and that was probably the worst possible outcome. Simply horrific.

 

Woojin lost his nerve first and straightened up hurriedly, swallowing hard as he put distance between them. “God, what a nuisance.”

 

Satisfied, Seungmin spun in the office chair in a full circle. Then spun around again for good measure. When he faced Woojin again, he poked the older man in the side in an overly familiar gesture. “We’re supposed to- we have to… We were assigned to work on this together.” At least he was trying to steer their conversation back on track.

 

“Says the guy who just spent the last forty-something fucking minutes in the bathroom.” Woojin gripped Seungmin’s fingers in his fist to keep the dude from reaching his tickle spot. “Get out of the goddamn chair, Seungmin.”

 

Instead of getting out of the swiveling office chair as ordered, Seungmin made himself more comfortable in it. “We have to work together. Professor’s watching.”

 

Woojin sighed and then glanced down at his hand. He was still clutching Seungmin’s fingers but what confused him was that Seungmin was attempting to slip his thumb around Woojin’s pinky as if trying to hold his hand. Woojin let him go. “Get off of the computer. You’re going to mess up my progress.”

 

“But who is the one with a 4.0, though?” At long last, Seungmin turned away from him and rolled the chair closer to the computer desk. He fidgeted with the mouse, tapped a few buttons on the keyboard and then clicked around on the numerous open tabs too many times for Woojin’s comfort.

 

He hadn’t saved his work in a while. “Seungmin!”

 

At the volume of his voice, Seungmin jumped and choked back a whimper. “Don’t yell at me.”

 

“Well, get out of the chair. I’ve done almost the entire assignment without you. I can do the last little bit without you, too.”

 

“I’m really sorry about leaving you earlier. I mean it. But… we’re being graded individually, you know.”

 

“You should have thought about that before you dicked off for an hour.”

 

“I c-c-can’t help that s-s-something was weird about today’s breakfast. It tore my stomach to pieces! I t-t-threw up.”

 

“I don’t care.” Woojin grit his teeth, ignoring the urge to grab hold of the office chair and just dump Seungmin straight onto the floor. If he did that, though, somehow _he’d_ be the bad guy. “I just want to finish this assignment on my own.”

 

“My grade is at stake,” said Seungmin, not turning to look at him.

 

“So is mine but you left me to do all of the work. I’m not putting your name on this.”

 

“I said I’m sorry,” Seungmin whined. “Would it have been better if I’d gotten sick all over the car?”

 

They fell into silence. Seungmin had the bare minimum of a point.

 

“I think the chart looks really good,” mumbled Seungmin. “I think the n-n-numbers look okay.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Woojin propped a hand on the chair’s armrest and leaned forward so that he could jab a finger at the screen, indicating one of the lines on the graph. “Do you see how much of an up-and-down struggle it is through here and here before the engine reaches peak torque at fucking 4,100 RPM? 4,100!” Then he pointed to the next line on the graph, denoting a different set of numbers. “The engine doesn’t even hit peak horsepower until 5,300 RPM. Do you see how wide of a valley there is here between these two peaks?” He pointed from the highest point on one line to the highest point on the other line and then back again. “This is shit. A waste of power and an absolute misuse of the engine’s combustion. How can you look at these results and think it’s fine? Get out of the chair.”

 

Seungmin refused to move. “We’re partners on this. Just tell me what the problem is. Tell me-- Let me-- Show me what I need to fix and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything, Woojin.”

 

Woojin didn’t want him to do anything. He just needed Seungmin to go away so that he could be angry in peace! It wasn’t even Seungmin he was mad at. It was everything and everyone else! Woojin just hadn’t been able to catch a break. Chan showing back up in his life had thrown him for a loop and then not even being able to sleep with Changbin for the next few weeks was about as harrowing as finding out he’d have to go hungry until the next harvest season. Hyunjin’s confession last night - this morning, really! - had kept him from falling asleep so he had effectively been awake a full 24 hours and counting now. He was tired, confused, depressed, frustrated, maybe still a little drunk... Trying to tune up this car engine and find the optimum degree of ignition timing was the only thing keeping him calm and sane. Yet Seungmin being completely gone for most of the class, forcing Woojin to pick up the slack? It was the icing on the shit cake. He wanted today to be over with already and it wasn’t even 10AM.

 

“Fuck it. We can both fail then.” Instead of helping Seungmin catch up on the assignment, Woojin yanked a stool out from beneath the computer desk and then sat on it, sliding his phone out of his pocket and starting up the YouTube app.

 

Seungmin, still clicking around on all of the graphs and reports Woojin had compiled during his multiple tests, announced, “The ignition timing is too low.”

 

“Wow, you think?” Woojin asked sarcastically, not even looking up from his phone screen. “Never would have guessed.” The app loaded in and right at the top of his subscription list was a brand spanking new video from Fortune. Woojin tapped it and the guy’s obnoxious intro music blared through the speaker.

 

Seungmin sat bolt upright at the loud sound and twisted in the chair to face him. “H-hey. We’re in class. We’re s-s-supposed to be working.”

 

Woojin ignored him. He stared at the screen where Fortune, all decked-out in his full camo gear, was standing in front of the workbench in the shed behind his house, showing off the brand new merch he had in stock. “--and if you use my promo code, you’ll get 20% off your order until the end of April!”

 

“What are you watching?” Seungmin inquired, standing up from the computer.

 

Woojin shifted on top of the stool to hide the screen from Seungmin’s prying eyes. “None of your business.”

 

“Hey, is that... That sounds like-” Seungmin put a hand on Woojin’s knee so that he could lean forward and steal a glance at the screen anyways. Woojin didn’t put a single thought to the physical contact. The only thing he could focus on was the just-vacated office chair.

 

He leaped up.

 

Seungmin’s reflexes were faster than Woojin predicted. The redhead turned around and hopped back in the chair right as Woojin made a dive for it. They both collapsed onto it, sending it spinning fast enough to make Woojin’s hungover brain temporarily turn to mush. Seungmin had been a second faster, though, which unfortunately meant that Woojin had wound up halfway across the dude’s lap.

 

“You child,” Woojin chided. He squeezed both of his eyes shut and blindly reached out a hand until he could grab the corner of the computer desk and stop their twirling.

 

Gleefully, Seungmin laughed.

 

Not his usual nervous chittering but a full-on belly laugh that made Woojin’s whole body shake. Woojin cracked open an eye and stared in total bewilderment at the guy. It was the most animated he had ever seen Seungmin. Usually, the guy almost physically shrank inward on himself, hiding behind his textbooks and manga and nerd glasses. Even after all of the classes they’d shared together, this was the first time Woojin had seen Seungmin smile so brightly or laugh so hard.

 

The weirdness of it gave him the heebeegeebees. “What the hell is your problem?” Woojin attempted to stand up only to realize that Seungmin had snaked both of his arms around Woojin’s waist, keeping him pinned to Seungmin’s lap.

 

“You.” Seungmin reared back in the chair and got this odd gleam in his eye. Woojin couldn’t place the expression exactly but it was as if Seungmin had achieved some sort of small, personal victory.

 

That little upward quirk at the corner of his mouth…

 

Woojin narrowed his eyes. Something at the back of his mind clicked together, linking two important pieces of subconscious information. He racked his brain, trying to find the connection. Trying to figure out what that odd sense of deja vu meant. Fortune’s video droned in his ear. Annoyed with it, he shut off his phone and raised a leg to slip his phone in his back pocket.

 

“Oh. Oh. Oh.” Just like that, the old Seungmin came back. The shy, stuttering, always-on-the-edge-of-panic Seungmin. “Oh my.” He unwrapped his arms from around Woojin’s waist and shoved him so hard, so fast, that Woojin fell across the desk and nearly knocked over a computer monitor.

 

“Dude,” Woojin groaned. He rubbed at his forearm that he was positive would bruise. This was why he hated group projects.

 

“I didn’t mean to.” Seungmin spun around in the chair, not to play around but to put up a wall between the two of them. “S-s-sorry!” When Woojin stepped towards him, Seungmin rolled the chair back a fair distance. “Don’t come over here.”

 

“Chill, dude. I wasn’t even thinking about getting back at you.” It was the farthest thing from the truth.

 

“I… I’m-- I didn’t--” Seungmin’s face went red. “I’m sorry. I’m having-- I got a-- _Stay over there_.”

 

Oddly enough, he was less irritating now than he had been when he had a backbone.

 

“Woojin, I’m serious. D-don’t come over here.”

 

“Keep the chair since you want it so bad,” Woojin said, rolling his eyes practically to the back of his head. “I’ll take the stool.”

 

🏳

 

That feeling of deja vu nagged at the back of Woojin’s head throughout the rest of class.

 

He couldn’t escape it! That odd sense of familiarity was like a dream he’d had but could just barely recall. Or an old friend whose face he could remember but whose name he couldn’t bring to mind. It irked him, really. It upset him to know but not actually know.

 

After class, he bought lunch at the cafeteria and, refusing to sit alone in such a crowded space since Hyunjin was still ditching, he carried his food to the next building over and made himself comfortable on the couch near the back of the student lounge.

 

It was quieter here. A group of dudes played cards. For actual cash, if Woojin was watching their hand movements correctly. Another student sat at a table by herself, reading a book about aerodynamics for _fun_ it seemed. The sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows was bright and warm and, once it heated up the back of his neck, threatened to put him to sleep.

 

Woojin chewed absently on his food, existing in that bleary state of mind on the knife edge between total exhaustion and falling asleep standing up. He was tempted to ditch his own afternoon classes and just go home and knock out. Maybe get up in time to shower and hit up the app to find some replacement Changbin ass. Anything would be better than attending classes for the next four or so hours, sitting next to an empty chair and knowing Hyunjin was out there somewhere dicking down somebody else. Hell, he was shocked the dude wasn’t bombarding him right that very moment with minute-by-minute recaps.

 

Maybe this Felix dude really _was_ a serial killer.

 

Woojin laughed at the prospect but then his mood soured. A Changbin replacement he could probably find. He doubted a Hyunjin replacement existed. _Could_ exist.

 

Fuck. What was he thinking?

 

“Yeah,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food. “I’m definitely going home after this.” Screw classes. He was so out of it, he was positive he’d start hallucinating. Maybe he’d forget about that nagging feeling after he caught up on his sleep.

 

But right now, though. It was the only thought in his head. What _was_ it? It was something he had seen today. In class, for sure. Not about the lecture but maybe some part of the practical tests? Not the engine runs themselves but something that had occurred during them. Some small detail had flipped a switch in him but... what? A color? A shape? A voice? Goddammit. It had been _something_.

 

He was so caught up in his internal debate that he didn’t even see Seungmin making a beeline towards him until the guy was right next to him. Right on top of him. “Fucking hell, Seungmin,” Woojin hollered. “Don’t put your ass in my food. Use your eyes!” He barely managed to save his lunch before the majority of it wound up squashed beneath Seungmin’s bony hip.

 

“Sorry. Sorry.” Seungmin sat down right next to Woojin. Their thighs touched even though the entire couch was wide open and available. “If you wanted to eat, w-why not sit at a chair with a table?”

 

Woojin propped his tray on his thighs and stared down at the junky meal that probably would have been cheaper if he’d gone down the road to the fast food restaurant. That would have been a better alternative than having to deal with Seungmin’s constant chatter. “I’m sitting here because I want to. Who would have-- Did I say you could have a fry?” He gripped Seungmin by the wrist and used his teeth to snatch the fries from between Seungmin’s fingers. “Go away, Seungmin.”

 

“I’ll bring you some napkins,” the guy said cheerily. He hopped up, crossed the student lounge to go to one of the nearby tables and then snagged a handful of napkins from the dispenser.

 

He had changed clothes since lab, Woojin noticed, and the skinny jeans and form-fitting shirt clung to a more muscular frame than Woojin would have pegged the guy to have beneath his usual sweaters and jackets. More curious than anything, he watched Seungmin cross the room back towards him.

 

“Here,” Seungmin said, placing the stack of napkins on Woojin’s tray and then sitting right next to him on the couch again.

 

Woojin snapped, “What the hell do you want anyways?” Really, had he accidentally sprinkled gorilla glue on himself? Why was Seungmin sticking to his side these days? The thought crossed his mind that Hyunjin had said something to Seungmin. Maybe clued him in on Woojin’s desperation or something. Fuck. The last thing he wanted from Seungmin was _pity_.

 

Seungmin said something. Probably an answer to Woojin’s question, but he ignored the man in favor of sliding his phone out of his back pocket. He’d had a bit of a eureka moment about that feeling he had. It was that video he had been watching earlier! Something in it had bothered him greatly and he couldn’t remember what or why.

 

“You did all of that yelling for no reason,” Seungmin mused. “We got the highest score in the class. I just checked with the prof.”

 

Woojin was too busy shoving fries in his mouth and scrolling through his YouTube subs to listen or care.

 

“Your obsession with the ignition timing got us the best results. We were the only ones to get nearly 100% of the max horsepower out of that engine during the tests.”

 

“Where is it? Where is it?” Woojin really needed to clean up his sub list if this many videos had been uploaded since that morning.

 

“Prof knew I was out of class for a while,” continued Seungmin, talking to the side of Woojin’s head. “He gave me an extra take-home assignment as punishment, I guess, so you don’t have to worry about me getting a free ride to a good grade.” He slid his glasses up his nose and paused for a long moment before he finally caught on to the fact that Woojin wasn’t listening to him at all. He nudged Woojin with his shoulder.

 

Woojin continued to ignore him. He had finally found Fortune’s video so he lowered the volume on his phone and tapped to play it.

 

Seungmin wouldn’t let up. “I’ll take notes for you in class next time. I’ll-- Can I do your homework? For like a week?”

 

At this, Woojin looked up at him. “What are you talking about?”

 

“To make up for skipping out on most of the assignment.” Seungmin went for one of Woojin’s fries again but he didn’t get close.

 

Woojin grabbed him by the hand and bent one of the dude’s fingers back until he had Seungmin shaking and whimpering. “Can you _fuck off_?”

 

Seungmin thrashed in his grip, nearly sending Woojin’s barely touched tray of food to the floor.

 

Woojin only let him go because he’d rather not waste so much cash.

 

Even after such punishment, Seungmin still wasn’t through with him. “I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“Make what up?”

 

“The assignment. I told you I’m sorry about m-m-missing so much.”

 

Woojin sighed wearily. Now he understood why he was so aggravated. Seungmin usually didn’t say anything. Now he wouldn’t stop talking. At all. “We got the grade. You don’t have to--”

 

“I’ll… d-do whatever you w-w-want me to. Anything.”

 

It sounded so forced. Now Woojin was positive that Hyunjin had put Seungmin up to this somehow. “Did Hyunjin say anything to you?”

 

At least that put a temporary halt to Seungmin’s driveling. “What? Why?” He grinned nervously. “He hasn’t spoken to me since the other day at lunch.”

 

Woojin stared at him. And then kept staring at him until Seungmin began to fidget under the scrutiny. And then continued to stare until he was convinced that Seungmin was telling the truth. He looked away. “Then why are you hanging around me?”

 

“Aren’t we in that club together?”

 

“What club?”

 

“The Don’t Need Your Love club?”

 

“ _What_?” Then it clicked in Woojin’s head. “Hyunjin was just fooling around. We aren’t actually in a stupid single’s club.”

 

Seungmin seemed genuinely hurt. “Oh.” The air whooshed out of him in a long sigh.

 

Woojin thought that would be enough to send the guy on his way but Seungmin didn’t move. He just looked up at Woojin hopelessly and the fluorescent strip lights in the ceiling above their heads put tiny little glowing patterns in his brown irises. “If you have something to say to me, then just say it, Seungmin.”

 

Seungmin bit his bottom lip. He was so nervous that Woojin could feel the dude’s racing pulse where their thighs were crushed together. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

 

Was he still going on about class? “I can take my own notes,” said Woojin, returning his attention to his phone. He was starting to get a headache. Probably from being awake for a shit ton of hours. Probably from Seungmin’s grating voice right in his ear.

 

“I-I mean… Even if-- It doesn’t have to be school work. I’ll… I’ll do whatever.”

 

Woojin raised a hand and pressed his palm flat across Seungmin’s mouth, silencing him. There. Better already. Now he could focus on Fortune’s video. He started it over so that he could watch it from the beginning.

 

Seungmin peeled Woojin’s hand off of his mouth but he had finally got it through his skull to _shut up_.

 

Woojin watched Fortune’s vid, searching every corner of the frame, rewinding sometimes, skipping ahead at other times, hoping something would trigger that deja vu feeling again. Was it the backdrop? No. It was just Fortune’s collection of colorful decals and a shelf full of power tools. Something in the foreground, maybe? No. That was just Fortune’s work desk where a dismantled pistol was strewn about the surface. It was hardly even in focus.

 

“Do you like him,” Seungmin asked, watching the video over his shoulder.

 

Woojin startled. He had somehow forgotten the guy was pressed up against him. “I hate his guts, actually.”

 

Seungmin laughed nervously again, squeaking like a rusty door hinge. “Then why are you w-w-watching his videos?”

 

“So that I can continue to fuel my desire to punch him in the face.”

 

The comment made Seungmin’s whole body go tense and it wasn’t until then that Woojin realized that Seungmin was gripping his hand, casually fiddling with his fingers. He slid his hand out of Seungmin’s grip and then put his phone on the couch’s armrest long enough to grab his burger and take a bite out of it. He’d let it get room temperature, but the flavor was decent, the beef patty noticeably seasoned and whatever sauce that was slathered on the bun had an interesting, mildly spicy aftertaste.

 

Now that Seungmin no longer had access to Woojin’s hand, he had taken to nervously picking at the hem of Woojin’s shirt.

 

He was like a stray puppy, Woojin thought. He’d shown Seungmin the bare minimum of attention - and not even on purpose! - and now the guy was literally clinging to him. Woojin took another bite of his burger and then sat it down on his tray. He dragged a napkin across his palms and picked up his phone again.

 

On the screen, Fortune was still chatting away, explaining to his viewers that there might be hiccups in his update schedule since he would need to start focusing on his studying for his exams.

 

Shit. That was right around the corner, wasn’t it? Woojin wondered if that had been the source of the nagging feeling in his head all day but he shook his head. No. He hadn’t gotten so far into the video that morning because Seungmin had been bugging the shit out of him.

 

Wait.

 

Was it something about Seungmin that had his mind in knots?

 

Woojin glanced away from the screen to hook his eyes in the dude’s direction. Seungmin was chewing on something, he realized, and if the salt and grease across his bottom lip was any indication, he had stolen a few of Woojin’s fries while he hadn’t been looking. Instead of saying anything about it, Woojin let him have them. What could he do about it now? Stick a finger in the dude’s mouth and pull out all of the chewed-up bits like he was trying to unclog the drain in the kitchen sink? Woojin was so irritated that he didn’t have much of an appetite anyways. He was eating just to stay awake at this point.

 

He glanced back at his phone and that’s when he saw it. That’s when he _paid attention_. That’s when it all made sense.

 

It was the watch.

 

That overly decorated black and rose gold watch!

 

“What is it,” Seungmin asked him, sensing how tense he’d become.

 

Woojin snapped his fingers when he recalled when he had last seen that watch. That brief glimpse of it on Hyunjin’s phone screen the other day! He’d looked at it but he hadn’t _looked at it_ yet he’d also looked at it enough to recognize it right then. Right there. All of it’s unnecessary dials around the clock face and even the little bits around the wrist strap. Something that ugly would stand out in Woojin’s mind no matter what!

 

But then… “Oh my fucking god.”

 

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?” Seungmin shook him as if to snap him out of it.

 

Woojin knocked the guy’s hands away. He halfway stood up, forgot about the tray on his lap and then collapsed back onto the couch before all of that food hit the floor.

 

“Woojin?” Seungmin asked. “You’re as white as a sheet. Is… Is it the food? Is it tearing your s-stomach up like it did m-mine?”

 

No. It wasn’t the food making Woojin sick to his stomach. It was the truth.

 

This Felix fellow that Hyunjin was maddeningly obsessed with was motherfucking Fortune.

 

Hyunjin had ditched him today to go fuck one of his greatest enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @[Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/TheSwingbyJHF)


	6. Zeigarnik Effect

Woojin accidentally stumbled across Felix’s Grindr profile while walking to his car to skip his afternoon classes.

 

Pssh. _Accidentally stumbled_ his ass. He’d gone on a deliberate hunt.

 

Searching Felix up had actually taken quite a bit of doing. Woojin went into his settings and then expanded his search radius first by 50KM and then by 100 KM to sweep the one or two much larger cities in the region; he removed some of his more unnecessarily picky, extraneous criteria to generally increase the number of profiles that popped up and then he had to spend his entire walk from the student lounge to the north parking deck skimming through all of the viable profiles until he spotted that all-too-familiar photo of that Felix dude with a corgi. The exact same image Hyunjin had shown him the other day.

 

“Bingo,” he muttered under his breath. “Found your ass.”

 

He _should_ have stopped there. He’d found the profile. That was more than enough. But curiosity killed the cat. Woojin had to know. He just _had_ to.

 

So he tapped on xXxGoldenBoixXx’s profile and read through the guy’s info. Hyunjin hadn’t been joking. Felix’s profile was extremely sparse. Even by Woojin’s ‘we fuckin or nah?’ standards. A lot of personally identifiable information had been peeled away, leaving Woojin with no other option but to piece together the bare minimum of impressions about the dude. Felix was in college for veterinary science, Woojin assumed based on evidence in two of the photos and a few key words in Felix’s bio. The guy was Hyunjin’s age, considered himself a top and wanted all of his interactions to be ‘discreet.’ Felix and Hyunjin had quite a lot in common, Woojin soon discovered. The two of them listened to the same upbeat, radio-friendly pop stars. They read the same, generic bestseller fiction. They watched the same kind of sappy Hallmark channel rom-coms. They even posted the same kinds of photos, showing off their outfits or their pets or flashes of their lithe, hairless torsos.

 

Just so he could purposefully make himself more jealous, he read Felix’s profile again.

 

“What does he have that I don’t have?”

 

He was being foolish.

 

See? This is how boys got in trouble.

 

“Thought you said you didn’t like him,” came a voice from right beside him.

 

Woojin startled and looked up. He shouldn’t have even been surprised to see Seungmin leaning over his shoulder, watching him scroll through Felix’s artsy, faceless profile photos. Woojin put his phone behind his back, out of view. “Why the hell are you here?”

 

Seungmin used a hand to push his dyed red bangs out of his face. “I’ve been walking with you the whole time. You’re the one not looking behind you.”

 

“Not like I’m gonna get shot in the back.”

 

“R-r-right,” Seungmin stuttered out, slowing down just enough for Woojin to walk quite a bit ahead of him. He recovered and picked up his pace until they were walking side by side again. “Are you busy this afternoon? Can I treat you to lunch or something? To make up for this morning?”

 

Woojin sucked in a breath, ready to get on the dude about following him everywhere but he didn’t have the strength. The energy. The concentration. It would be so much easier and so much faster to just get in his car and _leave_. Maybe skip class tomorrow, too, just to fucking catch up on sleep. Woojin led the way into the humid darkness of the parking deck’s ground level. 

 

“D-d-did you hear me? Woojin,” Seungmin prompted. “About--”

 

“I’m not hungry,” Woojin interrupted. “And this guy--” He shook his phone in the air. “--is not my type. At all.”

 

The underclassman stayed on Woojin’s heels. “Oh? Then what _is_ your type?”

 

Woojin hated how quickly Hyunjin’s face leaped to the center of his brain. Those eyes. That smile. That _body_. He eventually admitted, “Jackasses.”

 

This got Seungmin chuckling. “I wouldn’t call myself a jackass.”

 

“I don’t get why you’d want to.”

 

“Because…” Seungmin nudged Woojin’s shoulder with his own. “You’re into me.”

 

Confused, Woojin turned around to block the guy’s path. Seungmin’s shoes brought him to a squeaky halt right in front of him. Even when he was stooping forward as if trying to curl in on himself, he was still taller than Woojin, forcing him to tilt his head back to look up at the dude when he was standing this close. They looked at each other for a moment. Or, rather, Woojin looked at Seungmin because Seungmin didn’t even have the guts to meet his eye. There was a noticeable fingerprint smudge diagonally across the left lens of Seungmin’s glasses. Woojin wondered how the guy hadn’t noticed it. How he wasn’t half-blinded by it.

 

Seungmin fidgeted beneath Woojin’s unblinking gaze, biting his bottom lip and glancing down at his shoelaces. Then he miraculously scraped up a bit of courage. He asked, “Y-y-y-you like me, don’t you?”

 

It took every ounce of self-restraint for Woojin to keep from laughing in the poor guy’s face. Talk about miscommunication! He managed to clamp his surprise down successfully enough so that only the tiniest high-pitched honk of a giggle came out of his throat. “That’s a… _very_ bold guess.” Would anyone sane think such a thing? Would anyone with common sense?

 

Apparently, Seungmin didn’t get that memo. “Hyunjin said you had it bad for a classmate.”

 

“I…” Woojin had to turn around and start walking again or else he _would_ laugh in Seungmin’s face. Seungmin had to be joking! Did he really think that he was Woojin’s only classmate? Did he really decide that Woojin liked him just because of a few minutes of scattered, forced small talk? Woojin didn’t know whether such an assumption was narcissistic or simply idiotic. Probably just idiotic based on who he was dealing with. “I do have it bad, but--” Woojin squeezed between two parked vehicles to get to the next row of cars. Goddammit. He forgot where he parked! He never left campus in the middle of the day before. He wasn’t used to the parking deck being this packed. “But do you think…” He started, still grappling his laughter. “You think…” _You think that classmate is you?_ He didn’t trust himself to speak such words aloud without falling to his knees in hysterics. “Wow,” he sang out instead. “I’m amazed.” And for all of the wrong reasons.

 

“I’m smart, aren’t I?” Seungmin snickered at his own assumed victory. “I figured you out.”

 

“Yeah, you got me,” Woojin let the words rush out of his mouth almost like a sigh. Sarcastically, he added, “I’m totally into you.” Now Seungmin’s behavior over the last couple of days made far more sense to Woojin. The dork had probably been carrying a torch for him all semester and now he was under the incorrect impression that the pining was... mutual. Ugh. But now Woojin had to deal with the odd, almost slimy realization that Seungmin _liked_ him. The idea sent his stomach turning. It wasn’t like Seungmin was a terrible or ugly person but Woojin had simply never paid him much mind beyond someone to copy homework off of. Seungmin’s literal crush was cool, he guessed, but Woojin didn’t really care. He had a hurricane-size mess of his own feelings to work through so he was entirely indifferent to Seungmin’s roundabout confession. He probably would have preferred it if he had never found out. Shit, Seungmin was enough of a pest as it was but now he probably wouldn’t leave Woojin the hell alone until he smashed the guy’s heart to pieces!

 

What was a good way to do that? Maybe there was a YouTube tutorial for heartbreak. There had to be a target audience for that. _Somebody out there_ had to be making videos. Woojin tapped in the password on his phone and it unlocked, revealing the snooping he’d been doing on the Grindr app. He started to exit out of it, when--

 

“I’m up there, too, you know. You should add me,” Seungmin suggested, pointing at Woojin’s phone screen.

 

“That’s swell,” Woojin told him, already uninterested.

 

Seungmin perked up. “I have… I have… _photos._ If you want to see.”

 

Woojin spotted his car, almost completely hidden from view on the other side of a fucking massive pickup truck. He made a beeline towards it. Ten more seconds and he’d be out of here. Free. “This isn’t Instagram or Twitter,” he grunted, digging in his pants pockets for his keys. “Grindr isn't for _friends_. I don’t want to see your dog photos.” 

 

“I’m not talking about… d-d-dog photos,” Seungmin squeaked as he trailed after Woojin to his car. 

 

After a statement like that, Woojin _had_ to shoot the dude a questioning look over his shoulder.

 

Seungmin’s face went red. “I’ll show you mine i-i-if you show me yours.” He definitely wasn’t talking about dog photos.

 

Good lord.

 

Maybe it was the desperation kicking in but Woojin sincerely thought about it for the entire five seconds it took him to pop his key in the door and unlock his car. He might have even considered the proposition positively. But then the cold harshness of reality splashed over him like ice water down his back. Seungmin was already stupidly talkative at school these days. Woojin refused to invite such a deluge of inane chatter into his Grindr inbox. Fuck no! There was no way Woojin was going to fall into the same pit trap twice. He’d done it with Hyunjin. He would not do it with anyone else! He would not waste months begging for dick. He would _not_ spend any more of his spare time chatting with someone on a hook-up app who he wouldn’t hook up with. Angrily, Woojin swung open his car door and tossed his backpack over onto the passenger seat. It hit the leather with a jingle of zippers and a _fwoomp_. “This app isn’t for conversation, Seungmin, it’s for fucking.”

 

“I know that,” Seungmin’s voice was right in his ear.

 

It was pure bestial instinct and nothing more that sent a ‘Fuck, I’m horny now’ signal from Woojin’s brain to his dick in record time. Like Seungmin’s voice had vibrated straight down to his balls. Woojin clenched his toes in his shoes. He’d never had a reaction like that before. He cleared his throat as he felt himself get hard. “What did you--”

 

Seungmin wasn’t through with him yet. His lips were flat against Woojin’s earlobe when he whispered, “Maybe I wanna fuck you. What do you say?”

 

Bruh. 

 

Woojin definitely did not hear that right. Seungmin hadn't stuttered over a single word but, no, Woojin had _not_ heard right. “Huh,” Woojin gasped out. Did Seungmin just--? He couldn’t even complete the thought in his head. It just didn’t compute. Not enough blood was in his brain. “What…” This _had_ to be another of Seungmin’s stupid, silly games. He probably thought he was being cute or some shit, like that morning in shop class where he’d behaved like an absolute brat. Woojin turned around and then gasped in surprise at Seungmin’s proximity. They were chest to chest. Nose to nose, just about. Seungmin’s eyes were uncharacteristically serious. His whole face had changed as if he’d put on a ferocious mask. When Woojin tried to take a step back, the warm metal of his car was suddenly pressed against his spine. “Seungmin, what did you say?”

 

“Wanna fuck?” Seungmin asked. His voice was deliberately clear. There was no mistaking his meaning. 

 

“Fuck.” The syllable slipped out Woojin’s mouth in a wheeze. The fact that he had to take a slow breath and gulp made the whole situation that much more like a dream. Was nervous, anxious little Seungmin getting him _worked up_? It just wasn’t realistic.

 

“You wanted to suck my dick, right?” Seungmin asked, keeping his voice low even though no one else was around to hear.

 

Holy shit on an altar.

 

This wasn’t actually happening. It couldn’t be! This was just some oddball hallucination brought on by over 24 hours without sleep. Some twisted, depraved projection of Woojin’s sexual frustration. “I said no such thing,” Woojin managed after taking a long moment to compose himself. When had he ever… When _would_ he ever want to suck Seungmin’s dick?

 

...but the way Seungmin was looking at him right now. Naughty. Capricious.

 

Fuck it.

 

Christo-- _Chan_ would probably never respond to another of his messages. Changbin was out of town. Hyunjin was a lost cause. A fucking cyst needing to be removed. This was some lucid nightmare anyways so what was wrong with grabbing what was right in front of him? Woojin raised his left hand and palmed Seungmin’s crotch. His fingertips barely managed to register the warmth and shape and hardness of Seungmin’s erection through the front of his jeans when--

 

“Oh!” Seungmin gasped. Not even in a hot, sexy way but in a squeaky, accidentally-put-too-much-salt-in-the-soup kind of way. “Oh,” Seungmin repeated. He stood up straight. His face got all rigid and his eyes widened with shock. Woojin watched in complete disappointment as all of Seungmin’s earlier confidence dissolved. The dude hurriedly backed away from Woojin’s hand, bumping straight into the truck parked next to Woojin’s car. “Shit. I-- I mean…” He patted the truck door as if apologizing to it for bumping into it. “Woojin, I--”

 

The fury came immediately. “Stop playing with me, Seungmin.” Woojin took a step forward, pinning Seungmin against some poor stranger’s truck, ready to finish what they started…

 

...but Seungmin was a dude covered in gasoline who had just discovered how dangerous it was to fuck with matchsticks. He shoved Woojin away. Hard. Just like that morning in class. “I didn’t-- Look, I was… W-w-w-we can still… But not-- I’m just really--”

 

“Jesus fuck,” Woojin screamed in frustration. “Why are you always like this?”

 

Seungmin backed away, freeing himself from the cramped space between the two parked cars. His long legs quickly put distance between them. “Woojin, I’m sorry. I’m just--”

 

“Find somebody else to goof around with,” Woojin snarled at him. Fucking shit. He was so sick of bullshit like this. There was this sharp, prickly feeling in his throat like he wanted to vomit. It was worse than being asked out on April Fool’s Day. Worse than falling asleep on the couch at a party and waking up the victim of a marker prank. Worse than drunkenly groping Hyunjin’s leg only for the man to _still_ be thinking about someone else. There was all this fucking stopping when he just wanted to start! “Don’t you ever joke like that with me again, Seungmin.”

 

“But Woojin,” Seungmin began, legitimately shaking like a leaf.

 

“But nothing,” Woojin cut him off. Then he climbed into his car, cranked up the ignition and beat a hasty retreat on squealing tires.

 

🏳

 

Wraith had never been so pissed.

 

He was usually the embodiment of icy, unfeeling cold. Victory over morality. Sure, he had his slip-ups in judgment the past few games but, this evening, he _seethed_ and it threatened to undo him.

 

The others on his squad must have sensed that, too.

 

“That sounds like a bold strat, my guy,” Jack Rabbit grumbled in response to the plan that Wraith had just finished explaining to them. “And that-- That’s not a compliment.” He lay prone on the red clay ground, peering out beneath a scraggly, half-dead bush to get a look at the environment ahead of them. They had been pushing forward, heading northwest at a rather rapid and steady clip, getting closer and closer to enemy territory with each row of houses they crossed. Jack Rabbit added, “I don’t think we should do that.”

 

Marquis, usually fond of just _rolling with it_ , said, “I agree with him. This is crazy. Even for someone as balls-to-the-wall as you, Wraith.” He crept forward on his hands and knees, staying low to the ground in case the yellow team had eyes on them from the other side of the street. “If you’re going to send someone that far forward by themselves, why not me? Not to toot my own horn but--” He turned his head in Hellhound’s direction and scoffed. “I’m the better marksman.”

 

“True,” Jack Rabbit chimed in nonchalantly.

 

If Hellhound took offense, he didn’t mention it.

 

“Just listen to me,” Wraith responded. Yeah, the idea was crazy, but he rarely got this level of resistance from his squad. It was Thursday. Early in the evening. Cloudy skies, high winds and about an hour and a half before sunset. The ground was still a little damp from that morning’s rain but at least that meant the wind wasn’t kicking up as much dust as usual. “Is the street clear or not,” Wraith asked, trying to keep his squad on task.

 

“I’m checking, I’m checking,” whined Jack Rabbit. He crawled forward a bit farther to get a better look up and down the street.

 

While waiting, Woojin checked his rifle’s magazine. He still had plenty of ammo. They had spent the last fifteen minutes chasing down a squad and this was his first real opportunity to sit and think since the round started. 

 

“So are you going to change your mind,” Marquis inquired. His eyes appeared cat-like beneath his safety goggles. 

 

Jack Rabbit piped up, “You gonna send me instead? I’m fast, at least.”

 

“Shhh,” Wraith hushed them, both because he was sick of their complaining and because he needed to keep listening out for enemies. Woojin had accidentally slept for fourteen hours straight Wednesday, skipped half of his classes today and had spent the whole hour-long drive up to the airsoft field wallowing in self-pity for this. He was angry and had the right to be. He would not be swayed. Wraith would not be stopped. “It’s Hellhound or no one.”

 

The guy deserved it. He needed to be punished.

 

“Dude,” Marquis slapped Wraith on the back. “Don’t you know how risky it is to be as far forward as the halfway point this early in a round?”

 

Of course he did.

 

“Road’s clear,” Jack Rabbit announced.

 

“Move, move, move,” Wraith commanded.

 

Leaving the discussion unfinished, the four of them left their cover behind the brush and sprinted across the old, broken pavement of the two-lane street.

 

“Hellhound, Jack Rabbit, take left,” Woojin said, hopping over the ditch on the opposite side of the road. “Marquis with me on the right.”

 

The squad split into two, keeping behind the broken, crumbling fragments of an old stone wall before crawling through the dry, knee-high grass to the corners of one of the gutted houses. They all stopped and knelt, breathing heavily, staring into the distance and waiting for enemy movement. 

 

It didn’t take long.

 

“Hostiles,” Jack Rabbit hissed. He pointed with two fingers in the ten o’ clock direction but Wraith was on the wrong side of the house to look out that way. He was tempted to push forward, get to the back side of the house. He could see everything from there, but it would be risky. Perhaps fatal. The tangos could be coming right up on them. He could circle around the corner and come face to face with them. Take a chest full of airsoft pellets. Get eliminated from the round and, worse, give away the positions of his squadmates. 

 

He had to be patient.

 

“Hold,” Wraith ordered. Just in case, he brought his rifle up to his face and peered through the sights. Twenty brutally long seconds passed before he saw movement up ahead. Farther out than he anticipated. Way out by the narrow line of budding deciduous trees at the edge of the backyard. There were three guys slowly trekking across the dirt field, heading east towards one of the capture points. Their guns were lowered. They weren't paying too much attention to their flank. Easy pickings, on any other day, but with the wind this high, Wraith actually wasn’t too confident he could make the shot from this distance. From this angle. And he'd be damned before he admitted that out loud. “Let them go,” he decided, lowering his gun. There wasn’t enough cover between here and out there to attempt to rush them. They were going to do this stealthily. 

 

Like ghosts.

 

A minute later, they could all hear distant gunfire off to the right. The scrimmage didn’t exactly sound close but that was good. Wraith’s plan was to send Hellhound forward, acting as a sacrifice… err, as a _decoy_ to lure Scylla’s squad out of hiding. When Scylla’s men had revealed their positions, Wraith, Marquis and Jack Rabbit would rush forward, hopefully flanking them. Who cared about game objectives when you had a personal grudge? Wraith didn’t even care about getting Scylla back this time! He wanted to light Fortune’s ass up tonight. Make him regret stepping out onto the field. Cover him in bruises. Mark him so that Hyunjin could see. So that Hyunjin would _know_. “Move, move, move,” hissed Woojin.

 

Two by two, they rushed out from behind the house and ran down the mild slope in the backyard. Their boots pounded out a frantic, heavy tempo on the packed earth but Woojin had waited until the wind blew to the west, carrying all of their noise away from the center of the field. 

 

The four of them didn’t stop until they’d reached the edge of the trees. 

 

With the practiced, graceful movements of a well-oiled machine, they hid themselves in the grass or behind a tree or underneath a bush. Anywhere to keep out of sight.

 

They waited for a moment but they heard no enemies crashing through the underbrush towards them. Good. They hadn’t attracted attention. Now they could initiate their plan. Like a game of shogi, Hellhound would be their forward spear. Their lance aimed directly at the heart of the enemy.

 

Wraith turned around, “Marquis, keep an eye on our six.” It would do them no good to get ambushed.

 

“Copy,” answered Marquis, crawling through the grass to cut back the way they came.

 

Jack Rabbit wasn’t finished with their earlier debate. “Are you _really_ going to send Hellhound up there alone?” He waved a hand in the general direction of the next cluster of old, skeletal houses, out towards the dangers of enemy territory.

 

“Hellhound can do it.” Wraith glanced over at the man in question. Hellhound was watching him instead of the path up ahead. Wraith looked him right in the eye and said, “And if he doesn’t want to do it, he can switch squads.”

 

Heavy words.

 

The four of them hadn’t been a four-man for too long, but a few weeks, a few games, a few _wins_... that was more than enough to develop trust and camaraderie. Switching squads was like filing for divorce.

 

“I can do it,” Hellhound said in an uncharacteristically tiny voice.

 

Fuck. It was so weird, Woojin thought, to be able see Hellhound but _recognize_ Hyunjin. Frustrated, he looked away from the man. He’d take a shot at his own team mate if he didn’t back off.

 

“Hold on,” Marquis muttered. “Wait a sec.”

 

His tone was so serious that Wraith’s first thought, his initial fear, was that Marquis had spotted enemy movement behind them. A possible pincer attack. Wraith twisted around to face their rear and raised his rifle, ready for a shoot out.

 

“Is something going on between you two?” Marquis pointed a finger first at Hellhound and then at Wraith. 

 

Wraith rolled his eyes and lowered his gun. “Thought you were about to say something that was actually important.” 

 

Marquis kept on, “I’ve been with you guys for months and have never felt this kind of atmosphere during a match before.” The wind picked up, sending the leaves of the trees above their heads whispering. Marquis paused, tilting his head and listening for footsteps. None came. When the wind died back down, the woods were quiet. Picking up where he left off, Marquis lowered his voice to say, “You two scared us with that almost fist fight the other day. And now, shit’s all tense. What happened?”

 

Hellhound sucked in a breath as if to answer.

 

“Nothing happened,” Wraith beat him to it.

 

Marquis didn’t let it go. “If you’re having problems off the field, leave it off the field.”

 

“There is no problem,” Wraith blatantly lied. He wasn’t in the mood to get a goddamn lecture. Especially from bitch ass Marquis. “We’ve done Attack Plan Epsilon like three times in a row. I’m just bored.”

 

“So you want to risk everything by sending Hellhound in alone?” Jack Rabbit huffed.

 

They needed to move forward, Wraith realized. As hidden as they were, he still felt like their backs were too exposed here. These trees were along the quickest path from Capture Point Bravo to Capture Point Charlie. If the defending team was playing this right, it would be only a matter of minutes before another squad came through on their patrol. “Forward,” Wraith said, pointing northwest. “Now. Now.”

 

At least his squad still followed his orders. They sprang out from their hiding places and charged forward, cutting through the last bit of trees and charging down the slope of gravel, clay and dried-out grass. They didn’t stop until they had their backs pressed to the dilapidated, graffiti-covered wall of a house on the west side. They were extremely close to the halfway point now. The front lines. The _pop pop pop_ of gunfire was just off to their right. The risk of being spotted had just increased exponentially but this was the moment they needed to launch their assault.

 

Wraith turned to Hellhound. “Get ready, soldier.”

 

“Roger.” Slowly, hesitantly, Hellhound double-checked his gun and then tied the laces on his boots a bit more tightly.

 

Wraith knew he was being a bitch. He knew there was a very high chance Hellhound would get caught and foil his hastily slapped together plans but, in a sadistic way, that was kind of what he wanted. He _wanted_ Hellhound to fuck this up. He wanted Hellhound to fail just so that he could have another reason to be upset with the man beneath the goggles and the mask. Woojin needed a reason to hate him that wasn’t just being rejected by him. A reason that wasn’t just waking up from the best sleep of his life to paragraph after paragraph of Hyunjin’s detailed recounting of his and Felix’s bubble tea date and the fumbling, awkward and kind of funny sex they’d had afterwards.

 

“Yard’s clear,” Marquis announced. “House looks empty.”

 

Wraith was already standing up. “Move. Move. Get to the front windows to offer cover fire.”

 

Jack Rabbit went around the left. Marquis went around the right. Wraith launched himself towards a windowsill, ready to climb in and cut through the house’s interior but Hellhound caught his ankle before he could make the jump.

 

“Shit,” Wraith cursed. He thought the yellow team had gotten hold of him until he whirled around and saw who it was. “What do you want,” he snapped, kicking his boot free of Hellhound’s grasp.

 

“Why are you mad at me,” Hellhound asked. He’d tugged his mask down off of his face, revealing his worried frown and the mango-colored hickies kissed into his jaw.

 

It was too fucking much. Too fucking real. Wraith wanted to scream at the top of his lungs but, instead, he bit his tongue until he tasted copper. “I’m not mad.”

 

“Woojin,” Hellhound pleaded. 

 

“I don’t know who that is.” Wraith attempted to climb over the windowsill again.

 

“Woojin,” Hellhound fearlessly repeated, grabbing Woojin by the shoulder. “Please just talk to me.”

 

About what? Hurting like a lovesick fool? Fiending like some lonely, horny addict? “I have nothing to say.”

 

“But why?” Hellhound shook him. His eyes were glassy. Red around the edges. Was he actually about to fucking cry? “You haven’t replied to my messages in days.”

 

Because none of them were worth replying to. Even the photo Hyunjin had taken of himself in his bathtub, jizz circling in the water around his dick like the white of a poached egg. “I’ve been busy,” Woojin responded. He attempted to pry himself loose of Hyunjin’s grip but Hyunjin found his strength, fisted the collar of Woojin’s shirt and shoved the shorter man against the house’s cement wall.

 

“We can fuck,” Hyunjin bargained. “If that’s what you want.”

 

“Hyunjin,” Woojin warned.

 

“We can ditch the game. Go to my place. We can have sex.”

 

The suggestion only pissed Woojin off all the more. It just meant that Hyunjin wasn’t half as dumb as Woojin assumed. The guy knew the whole time. Knew what Woojin wanted these last two years but kept dangling it in front of his face the whole time. “Get off of me,” Woojin growled. With all of his might, he shoved Hyunjin away. “You’re just talking out of your ass.”

 

“I don’t want to lose you,” said Hyunjin. He pulled his goggles off of his face and up into his hair so that he could press the heel of his palm to his teary eyes. “You’re my only friend in this town.”

 

“ _Was_ your only friend.” Woojin put on his Wraith voice to say it. “I was serious the other night. I can’t keep being friends with you like this.”

 

“Woojin,” Hyunjin whined pathetically. Loud enough that Wraith was positive that Marquis and Jack Rabbit could overhear. “That’s why I’m saying we can fuck. We can--”

 

“It’s too late for that,” Wraith said. He hoisted himself up onto the windowsill and swung his legs over. “It’s too late for a hookup. Can’t you see?” He was about to become an emotional wreck his goddamn self. He sniffed hard, fighting back the stupid emotions. “I don’t want to have sex with you unless it _means_ something now. Get it?” There it was. Out in the open. “Piss off and go fuck Fortune again. Just don’t tell me about it. Don’t tell me about shit.” Wraith didn’t stick around to hear or see Hyunjin’s reaction. He dropped through the window and cut through the bare bones interior of the house, stomping louder than he knew he should when this was supposed to be a stealth operation. He stepped outside through the empty archway where the front door once stood.

 

Marquis and Jack Rabbit were huddled on opposite ends of the front porch, using the wooden railing as cover.

 

Hyunjin came through the archway behind him. He’d hidden his face back behind his mask. He was Hellhound again. Maybe he’d have enough sense to keep off-the-field problems off of the field but Woojin couldn’t even look at him.

 

“Marquis, give me your pistol,” Wraith snapped, crossing the porch towards the man.

 

Marquis looked up at him, raising his eyebrows incredulously. “Use your own damn sidearm.”

 

Wraith lifted the strap of his sniper rifle off of his shoulder and unceremoniously dropped it onto Marquis’s lap. “Give me your pistol.”

 

“What do you need it for,” the guy complained, but he held it out to the squad leader anyways.

 

“Change of plans,” Wraith explained. 

 

Jack Rabbit and Marquis exchanged nervous, worried looks.

 

“What level of stupidity are we jumping to next,” Jack Rabbit had to know.

 

Wraith took a moment to test the weight of Marquis’s pistol in his grip. It was heavier than he thought it would be, based on how it looked. It was larger, too, but fit his hand better than he expected. Finished with his examination of it, he started down the front porch steps.

 

“Where are you going,” Marquis hissed at his back. “We’ve got hostiles on two sides!”

 

Wraith did not care. “Hellhound is going to stay behind.” He refused to even look back. “I’m going to be the decoy.”


	7. Law Of Effect

Wraith spotted Chariot. It wasn’t hard to do, despite the long distance between them. Even cloaked from head to knee in camo, the dude stood out like he didn’t belong. Or maybe that was due to the fact that he wore shorts in an attempt to beat the heat and his pale legs were like flags waving in the air, demanding ‘look here, look here, look at me.’ Chariot’s movements were stiff and jerky like he’d recently injured himself. Hip or back, Wraith guessed, based on how Chariot jerkily moved back and forth across the house’s front yard. But that didn’t matter. If he was out here, he was in the game.

 

A target was a target. Even if they were a sitting duck.

 

“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Wraith chuckled. He crossed the worn, cracked tar of the empty street quickly, keeping his head low.

 

Now he was officially across the halfway point. Officially in enemy territory. 

 

Chariot didn’t hear him or see him. The broad-shouldered man had his back turned, checking for enemy movement in the wrong direction. To be expected considering Wraith’s rather sneaky angle of approach. No one would think to look for him coming from this way, from this far west. 

 

“If Chariot’s here…” Wraith whispered, _then Scylla must be close_. The guy would trust no one else on his squad to watch his back while he found himself a sniper’s nest. 

 

Wraith moved closer, growing ever more confident with each bush he crawled past, each tree he slipped around. Yes. Not even Scylla would expect him here, this close and this dangerous. Right under their noses. He didn’t know where the idea came from, anger or pride or some other judgment-clouding emotion, but Wraith came to the decision right then and there that he’d wipe out Scylla’s whole squad singlehandedly. He knew he could if he played it right. Fuck acting as decoy. Fuck being a lure. Fuck objectives. Fuck team play.

 

Whenever Scylla was involved, instinct took over. Common sense could eat shit.

 

Wraith could hear Marquis in his ear now, in that joking voice of his, _It’s only a game. Why do you have to be mad?_

 

“Come on, where are the rest of you,” Wraith muttered, squeezing his right hand into a fist to keep it from trembling with nerves. “You wouldn’t leave him alone for too long, would you?” He squinted into the hazy, late-afternoon heat, but he spotted no other movement. Not immediately. There was the _pop! pop!_ of gunfire to Wraith’s five o’clock but it sounded distant. Inconsequential. Even Chariot wasn’t on edge, remaining on task. The fact that he wasn’t wandering too far from the house meant that Scylla’s squad was using it as a stronghold. The others had to be close. “Someone’s gotta come checking up on you.” Then Wraith remembered how differently Scylla’s squad dynamic was from his own. Unlike the we-move-as-one movements Wraith favored, Scylla had no reservations about spreading his formations wide and thin. Covering as much ground as possible despite the vulnerability. Perhaps Chariot _was_ up this far alone. “I’ll take him out quietly,” he determined. “Do it fast enough and the rest won’t even know he’s out of the round until it’s too late.”

 

If Jack Rabbit were here, he’d make a joke at Chariot’s expense. Something about not having horses to pull the carriage, probably. If Marquis were here, he’d have already taken the shot. If Hellhound were here--

 

Wraith rolled his eyes.

 

This was no time for distractions. He had to _move_.

 

Wraith checked his six to make sure no one was on his ass and then he squatted low into the scraggly, arid brush and made a beeline for Chariot’s blind spot. The high wind masked the crunch of his boots in the sand and the rustle of his body moving through the overgrown shrubs. It was slow going. Requiring an assassin’s level of patience. Whenever the wind died down, he slowed. Sometimes stopped completely. Whenever the wind picked up, he moved, keeping his body low to the ground, deep in the house’s skewed shadow and, hopefully, out of sight. On and on and on he moved like that until he was well within firing range.

 

This was dangerous. 

 

Wraith was smart. He knew that it was silly to be out here alone. Surrounded. He could get spotted any second now - get pincer attacked at any moment! - but the thrill of the hunt bubbled in his veins like a drug and he just couldn’t help himself. It was too much fun. Beneath his ghoulish mask, he was grinning like a loon. This was what he lived for. This was what he craved!

 

He was already imagining Scylla’s defenseless look of surprise, pretty pink mouth dropped in an o-shape, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Wraith crawled through a tall grassy patch in the house’s front yard, trying to regain his focus. His posture. Trying to do this precisely.

 

Chariot was still ignorant to Wraith’s looming, haunting presence. The man hummed to himself, wriggling his shoulders to the beat in his head. His finger wasn’t even on the trigger of his gun! A fatal mistake.

 

Wraith watched his target for about a minute and a half, examining Chariot’s nervous tics, the bulge of his muscular calves as he walked, counting how many steps he took in one direction before spinning around to walk in the opposite direction. Then Wraith remembered that he did not have his sniper rifle. He had Marquis’s gun. Watching from afar and lining up the perfect shot wouldn’t work here. 

 

He had to think like Marquis. He had to do this close-range.

 

Slowly, he inched even farther forward, his heart pounding in his ears and nearly drowning out the noise of Chariot’s footsteps, his singing. Wraith slipped from one bush to the next until he could kneel around the corner of the old house, well within Chariot’s line of sight if the dude bothered to look to his right. The man seemed to be coming straight towards him! Every muscle in Wraith’s body stiffened with fight or flight. He pressed himself flat against the wall of the house as Chariot drew ridiculously close to his hiding spot. Closer. Closer, still. So close Wraith could touch him. Chariot paused just shy of the corner of the house, standing still long enough for Wraith to almost give in and strike out of panic, then Chariot huffed and turned on his heel, patrolling away without a care in the world.

 

A sigh of relief escaped Wraith’s lips, hardly louder than bird’s wings.

 

Chariot wasn’t the fastest on Scylla’s squad, as Fortune held that title, so the best way to handle this would be to just rush the dude from behind. Get him quickly enough that he couldn’t escape or return fire or scream for backup. Yes, Wraith had to be like his namesake. Fast and unseen like a vengeful ghost. 

 

So he leaped from around the corner of the house, sprinted forward to close the distance between them and aimed a stream of semi-auto fire at the back of Chariot’s head.

 

_Tat-tat-tat!_

 

Wraith wasn’t used to the gun. Hadn’t shot it before. The weight of it was unfamiliar to him so he couldn’t account for the recoil. The spray of pellets went wide and high, flying harmlessly past Chariot’s head and pinging off the side of the house.

 

“What the--” Chariot startled at the sudden noise. He ducked uselessly, having already dodged the bullets. “The fuck?” He turned around. Or started to.

 

Wraith aimed lower and a bit more to the left to compensate for the recoil then squeezed the trigger a second time.

 

_Tat-tat-tat!_

 

The stream of airsoft pellets pounded straight into the base of Chariot’s neck, leaving noticeably red welts in their wake.

 

“Shit!” Chariot screeched in pain. He slapped a gloved hand over his neck like he was swatting at mosquitoes. “Hit! I’m hit,” he called out. When he twisted all of the way around, there was an almost comical pause before he recognized that it was Wraith hovering behind him like death itself. “Jesus.”

 

“Hmm… Close enough,” Wraith’s voice was but a muffled growl from behind his mask. He lowered his weapon. “Now get lost, fuckwad.”

 

Chariot wasted no time. He yanked free the bright orange bandanna around his arm, held it in his fist and let it flutter in the wind, signaling that he was out of the round. “You…” He opened his mouth as if to say something, possibly to complain or swear or curse dishonor on his whole family, but Chariot sucked his tongue back behind his teeth and trudged away, his shoulders slumped in total defeat.

 

This was no time to celebrate, though. Only one down. Three to go. And he hadn’t even gone up against their best! Wraith hopped up onto the nearest windowsill, swung his legs over the edge and rolled into the shadowy depths of the old, musty house. The action was so much easier to do without his sniper rifle slung over his back. And so much quieter, too. Moving about on his tiptoes to minimize noise, he ducked from room to room, peeping around every corner and pointing Marquis’s gun into each shadow to check and double-check for hostiles. The house remained eerily quiet around him, though, but he chose not to relax. He was in deep. There was no way he’d fired off that many rounds without being heard. _Someone_ would come looking into it and he couldn’t get caught off-guard. Patience was the name of the game here. Distance. He had to keep his foes in front of him, not letting a single one of them slip behind. Wraith reached the back end of the house and peered through a window without glass panes. He didn’t have much of a view. The angle was bad. A tree blocked half his sight line. He propped an elbow up on the sill and hoisted himself high enough to lean his torso out a little ways into the sunlight, out into the breeze. Sure enough, he spotted movement on the opposite end of the yard. Two figures closing in on the house, guns cautiously raised. Jacque, Wraith recognized, and motherfucking Fortune! The two of them had been closer than he had anticipated. Literally right next door. Wraith ducked below the windowsill to stay out of sight. He was positive he could take on anyone one-on-one but if he got ganged up on, he’d be through.

 

On his hands and knees, he crawled through the last two rooms in the house towards the back door. Gently, so as not to send the hinges squealing, he yanked on the door handle, pulling it open and letting in the reddish afternoon light. With the door opened, Wraith ducked behind the door jamb, gun at the ready.

 

Seconds passed. He could hear Jacque and Fortune’s footsteps get closer and closer, crunching over the dirt and sand. He could hear the jingle of their ammo pouches. The rustle of their clothes. Then they got close enough that he could make out the tones of their whispered voices. Fortune’s low like the song of a cello. Jacque’s high and flighty like a clarinet. 

 

Wraith could just barely make out their words:

 

“...sounds came from this direction…”

 

“...check around the back…”

 

“...Chariot would…” Something. Something. “...quiet. Too quiet.”

 

“Should we inform Scylla?”

 

Wraith saw their shadows pass by the door. One and then the other. Heading to his left. Fuck. So much for keeping his distance. They were right up on him!

 

He heard them call Chariot’s name. Once. Twice. Chariot didn’t respond because Chariot was out of the match.

 

“...and get away with it.” The voice sounded like Jacque’s.

 

Fortune gave an assenting grunt. “Not on my watch.”

 

Then there was a sudden silence. It stretched on and on. Had they spotted him somehow? Wraith leaned back even farther just to insure he kept his own shadow out of the doorway. 

 

He waited and waited. Holding his breath. Five seconds passed. Then ten.

 

Where _were_ they?

 

Wraith hated this. He hated not being able to know their exact locations! The enemy positions and distance and angles. Passing shadows gave him no information. Shit. If he had his rifle, if he was playing as far back as he usually did, he would be on a roof on the other side of the street, have the two of them in his sights, relaying their position to Hellhound who would, in turn, get the info to Marquis and Jack Rabbit. But Wraith was in the thick of it now. No help at his back. No cover fire. It dawned on him just how much trust Jack Rabbit and Marquis and even Hellhound must have in him to obey his commands when they could not _see_.

 

Fucking hell. His only option would be to jump out, catch Jacque and Fortune by surprise. Light up the first one he saw. Preferably Jacque, the son of a bitch. With Jacque down and out of the picture, he could retreat, reposition, and Fortune would have a tough time pinning Wraith down if he did not have Jacque’s numerous spider eyes showing him Wraith’s every move.

 

Wraith steeled his nerves. If he didn’t move now, he’d just give them more time to lay whatever trap they had set for him.

 

He poked his head around the corner of the open door for a split second. The sun got him square in the eye and the red of it blazed across his eyelids even after he blinked multiple times but the yard next to the back door was clear. Wraith waited one more moment, let out a whoosh of air from his lungs, and then leaped through the doorway.

 

His combat boots hit the ground and he took off at a sprint. 

 

There was no one on this side of the house so he turned the corner.

 

There they were. Almost right in front of his fucking face! 

 

Jacque. Fortune. Kneeling in the dust, guns aimed in his direction like they’d been waiting for this moment. Waiting for him.

 

Shit.

 

“What the--?” Jacque choked out in surprise, lowering his weapon. “Wraith?”

 

“Expecting someone else?” Wraith almost felt offended.

 

The stand-off lasted for an awkwardly long beat. Then... 

 

“Get him,” Fortune commanded.

 

Wraith squeezed the trigger. _Tat-tat-tat! Tat-tat-tat!_ He had wanted to get Jacque but Fortune’s big ass head was in the way. The airsoft pellets bounced off the dude’s safety goggles, off of his pointy chin and his hurriedly raised hand. “Hit,” the guy choked out, turning his face away from the gunfire.

 

Jacque swore and took off running, not even looking back.

 

“Jacque!” Fortune yelled at the dude’s retreating back. “Man up. Get back here!”

 

“Aht,” Wraith cut him off. “You’re out. You can’t give any orders or warnings.” This was war. A hit man was a dead man.

 

Fortune turned back towards him with the meanest scowl on his face.

 

Jacque kept running. Around the corner of the house and out of sight.

 

Wraith let him go, if only because it hadn’t dawned on him until right then how fun of a target Fortune was going to be. He squeezed the trigger again. _Tat-tat-tat!_ The gun in his hand jolted as it fired pellets at the side of Fortune’s neck, at his face, scratching at his freckled cheeks. Popping him in the mouth.

 

“Fuck, I’m hit,” Fortune screeched. “Didn’t you hear me the first time?” He dropped his gun into the dust and raised his gloved hands above his head in surrender.

 

Wraith wasn’t about to let him go. Not this easily. The bitch had always annoyed him. Always been in his way. Taking everything. Wraith lunged forward and let loose another round of pellets at the dude’s head. _Tat-tat-tat!_

 

Fortune shrieked in pain. “Stop being a dick.” He tripped over his own shoelaces and wound up on his ass on the ground. “This is overkill, man,” he bellowed. _Tat-tat-tat! Tat-tat-tat!_ Wraith was close enough that every pellet stung like nettles. Sure to leave bruises. “Fuck. I already said I’m hit. I’m hit!” _Tat-tat-tat!_ One of the pellets must have got him real good. Fortune’s bottom lip was split open and the red of blood stained his front teeth. “Chill out!”

 

None of that sounded humble enough to be proper groveling. Wraith let loose another flurry of pellets. Some hit Fortune in the chest. The rest pinged like hail on the ground at Fortune’s feet.

 

“Wraith! Fuck,” Fortune howled. He reached out a hand for his own gun as if to return fire. “This is shit sportsmanship!” His fingers curled around the barrel of his gun. He fixed his grip on it and held it up towards Wraith.

 

Funny. Why was the look of terror on his face not satisfying at all? Wraith put a finger on the trigger but before he could squeeze off more rounds, an awfully heavy weight slammed into him from behind and sent him rolling into the dirt and dust. He felt bulldozed. The wind nearly knocked out of him. “Shit,” he groaned out when his head had stopped spinning. He was on his back. A great weight was on top of him, flattening him. Wraith panicked, thinking it was Scylla getting the jump on him. He wiped the dust off of his goggles with his sleeve so that he could see and held up Marquis’s gun, prepared to fire.

 

Hellhound, of all people, was above him. Straddling him. He put his big hands around Wraith’s wrists and pinned them to the ground, knocking Marquis’s flashy gun flying. Wraith struggled in his grasp, managed to lift himself up a bit, but Hellhound was bigger than him. Heavier. The guy only needed to shift his weight the slightest bit to press Wraith back down into the dirt.

 

“What the fuck,” Fortune hissed. “Has he gone apeshit?” He got to his feet and spit a fat wad of blood onto the ground at his feet. 

 

“Bitch, I should--” Wraith’s threat was cut short by one of Hellhound’s hands pressing flat and hot across his mouth.

 

“You better get him under control or I’ll report him,” Fortune warned, tapping his helmet where his GoPro was mounted. It had probably recorded everything.

 

Wraith had forgotten all about it. Fuck!

 

“Get out of here, Fortune,” Hellhound yelled at him. “You’re out of the match already anyways.”

 

“But, he’s a--” Fortune began, stepping close like he was going to start something.

 

Wraith swung his free hand like he was trying to make a grab for Fortune’s clothes. The man beneath the gear had law enforcement training, Wraith belatedly remembered, and before he knew it, Hellhound had both of his slim wrists in one big hand, pressing Wraith’s arms over his head.

 

Fortune snarled, “I should shoot _him_ in the face.” 

 

“Just go,” Hellhound snapped without taking his gaze off of Wraith. “I’ll handle this.”

 

“But!”

 

“I’m sorry. I’ll make up for whatever he did. Leave us alone.”

 

Fortune sighed. He was red in the face from anger or maybe all of the airsoft pellets, but he turned around and left, undoing the orange bandanna on his forearm and starting the long, embarrassing walk back to his team’s base.

 

In a stern voice that almost didn’t suit him, Hellhound looked dead in Wraith’s eyes and asked, “Can we talk about this like adults or would that be too hard?”

 

Wraith just glared daggers at him, twisting and turning in a fruitless attempt to wriggle his way out from beneath Hellhound’s limbs.

 

“Please. I don’t want to do this to you, either.” But he put more of his weight on Wraith’s chest all the same.

 

Wraith gave it one last try, throwing himself sideways in an attempt to roll away but Hellhound was serious. He didn’t budge the slightest bit, even as Wraith thrashed beneath him for several seconds, tiring himself out until all he could do was lay there and wheeze.

 

“Are you calm now?” At long last, Hellhound removed his hand from Wraith’s mouth. “Woojin, why would you do all of this?” He saw the horrified look in Wraith’s eye but beat him to the punch. “And stop acting like we don’t know each other.” He let go of Woojin’s wrists and sat up. He pulled Woojin’s safety goggles up off of his face and into his dark hair. He repeated the action with Woojin’s mask, pulling it down to reveal Woojin’s entire face. “Can we finish talking? About earlier?”

 

“Not in the middle of a match,” Woojin squeaked out. 

 

“You can’t keep off the field problems off the field, either.”

 

“Yes, I can!”

 

“You so totally can’t. You just unloaded half a magazine into Felix’s face!”

 

Woojin started, “Because he’s an asshole.”

 

“Because he likes me and I like him.”

 

Woojin seethed. “Hellhound…”

 

“Hyunjin,” the guy corrected. “You know it’s me.” He took a moment to pull his own mask down from over his face. There were those pink, pillow lips again. There were those hickies Fortune had kissed into his jaw again. “We need to talk about this, Woojin! We need to address this _thing_ between us.” He waggled a finger, pointing at each of them in turn.

 

Woojin was still trying to catch his breath from all of his flailing around. “Do we?”

 

“Yes! You’re willing to throw our entire friendship away because of this. We need to talk.” Hyunjin pulled off his own safety goggles, not caring how they mussed up his long, shampoo-commercial hair. 

 

The two of them just looked at each other. Their hard, outer shells had been stripped away and all that was left were the soft, unprotected insides. 

 

This wasn’t the kind of overpowered that Woojin liked to feel.

 

“Why didn’t you stop me,” Woojin had to know. He wanted to scream it but his voice came out paper-thin. “If I was making you uncomfortable, why didn’t you stop me?”

 

“You weren’t,” said Hyunjin. At least they were no longer shouting at each other. They had made that much progress, at least. “I was always comfortable around you.”

 

Frustratingly so. “Then why let me carry on like an idiot for two fucking years?”

 

“Because I trusted you,” Hyunjin said. His sweat-damp hair stuck to the sides of his face and neck in the heat. “And I thought that we had found a little routine of our own… showing each other ourselves like that. I thought it was fun. You were so confident and I wanted to be bold like you. And…” He dipped his head to his chest, suddenly getting shy. “And maybe I loved all of the attention you gave me. You made me feel like I was a star.” The smile that spread across his lips was bright and genuine.

 

It hurt. Woojin couldn’t keep looking at him like this. He turned his head and stared at the side of the house. His suspicions had been right. Hyunjin hadn’t thought of him sexually at all. Probably wasn't even attracted to him like that. Every little bit of nudity and raunchiness they shared was just... art. “How could you do this to me,” Woojin muttered. “Lure me in and then pull away… lure me in and then pull away…” He swallowed hard. He was terribly thirsty. “You made me think that if I just tried a little harder…”

 

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin said. “I didn’t know it had you feeling like this.”

 

“How could you not?” Woojin turned to meet his eye. “Look at you.” He raised a hand and pressed it to Hyunjin’s stomach, and then up to his chest, to his neck and to his jaw. “You’re gorgeous.”

 

“It’s just how I look.” Hyunjin furrowed his eyebrows and gently pushed Woojin’s probing hand away. “It’s what I look like. It’s not like I can leave my body at home when I come around you.”

 

Woojin draped an arm over his face, blocking out the unbearable light of the setting sun.

 

Hyunjin rolled sideways so that he was no longer straddling Woojin. “Sorry. If…” He eased onto his back and the two of them laid on the ground side by side. Breathing heavy. “I was wrong earlier…” Hyunjin said after a long, long time. “If we had slept together… If you had let me force it... things would probably be worse. Neither of us would have really gotten what we wanted out of it, you know.”

 

The truth stung. Burned going down like strong, cheap moonshine. But Woojin couldn’t help himself. He needed his heart crushed completely. “And what is it that you want, Hyunjin?”

 

He felt Hyunjin get tense against him, clenching all of his muscles. Curling his toes in his boots. Grinding his teeth. Squeezing his hands into fists. He opened his mouth and inhaled sharply, knowing good and well that whatever he was about to say would keep things from ever going back to the way they used to be. But he stopped himself. The words were but a buzzing at the back of his throat before he swallowed down the noise. Hyunjin licked his lips and asked something entirely different, “What do _you_ want, Woojin?”

 

Instead of answering him, Woojin bolted upright. 

 

With practiced movements, he yanked his mask back up over his face and his safety goggles back down over his eyes. He clutched the gun in his hands and pushed himself to his feet.

 

Next to him, Hyunjin was just as ready. He had heard it, too. The _crunch thud crunch thud_ of dried-out grass beneath heavy, quickly approaching footsteps. The noise was coming from around the front of the house and, this deep into enemy territory, they could only be--

 

“Hostiles,” Hellhound whispered.

 

The sound got closer and closer, coming right for them.

 

Wraith wordlessly signaled over his shoulder and the two of them shuffled backwards, keeping their guns pointed towards the noise as they darted behind the back corner of the house. The angle of the sun was working against them, Wraith quickly figured out. Their two shadows stretched across the field, easily identifiable from a distance. They would have to retreat even further to get the sun from behind them. He signaled again. Hellhound went first and then Woojin followed him at a half-jog around the backside of the house, putting more distance between themselves and their attackers. Wraith was about to wonder who it was closing in on them, when--

 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

 

Only Scylla was skilled enough and ballsy enough to _announce his arrival_ by singing at the top of his lungs during a game that hinged on stealth.

 

Wraith kicked at the dirt. “The fucking bastard.”

 

Hellhound met Wraith’s eye. “I’ll leave him to you,” he muttered. He brought his assault rifle up towards his face and jerked his head towards the next corner of the house. “I’ll get Jacque.”

 

“He’s here, too,” Wraith questioned. He had only heard footsteps. He hadn’t seen anyone’s face.

 

Giving him a knowing look, Hellhound asked, “Who went and got Scylla?”

 

Wraith’s hastily discarded common sense came back in a tidal wave. Of course. “Wait. How long were you behind me going after those guys?”

 

“I know you’re here, Wraith,” Scylla sang out, cutting their conversation short. “Where are you?” The guy could go out to sea and lure sailors to their deaths in the depths of the ocean with a voice like that.

 

Wraith and Hellhound pushed forward, cutting around the next corner of the house in a wild, risky roulette. The two opposing squads would either chase each other endlessly around the structure or turn a corner and come face to face with each other. Wraith and Hellhound had the exact same thought at the exact same time. They stopped running. Hellhound pointed left, Wraith pointed right. Understanding each other immediately, they nodded and took off in opposite directions in an all-out gamble to pincer their enemy from both sides.

 

Wraith came back around the corner just in time to watch Scylla hop up the missing stair into the open back door of the house.

 

A gun fight in close quarters would be frantic. Messy. Neither of them would be able to line up a clean shot unless they were face to face. But Wraith had to remember that he didn’t have his cumbersome long-range rifle on him. He glanced down at Marquis’s pistol in his hand. He was perfectly equipped for this.

 

Swallowing his apprehension, he rushed forward and followed Scylla into the house. “Scylla,” he bellowed. 

 

Being outside in the bright light for so long and then jumping into the dark of the house was a mistake. He couldn’t see. His eyes had yet to adjust. Half-blinded in the sudden dark, he raised his gun and rushed forward, trying to follow the blur of reddish movement that he was certain was the back of Scylla’s head.

 

“I’m coming for you,” Wraith declared.

 

“Haven’t you learned by now,” Scylla called back. “Every time you think you’re hunting me, I’m the one hunting you.”

 

They ran from room to room. Wraith pausing before rushing through every door frame, pointing his gun into each corner.

 

“You’re far from home, aren’t you, Wraith,” Scylla yelled from the next room over. “In case no one has told you, you’re on the yellow team’s side of the field.” His voice echoed through the skeletal innards of the house, making his exact location hard to pinpoint. Wraith blinked his eyes rapidly, slowly slowly slowly bringing the dark halls of the house into focus. He charged forward, his boots pounding across the old flooring.

 

Scylla continued, “If I get you now, it’ll be a long walk back to base.”

 

“Shut up,” Wraith howled back. There was no way he’d lose to Scylla in a match _again_. He had a record to uphold! “Stop playing dirty.”

 

“You forget who you’re up against.”

 

Wraith ran to the other side of the room, certain he’d catch up with Scylla. “I’ll--” Instinct made him stop in his tracks.

 

_Pop. Pop. Pop._

 

Scylla’s sidearm launched airsoft pellets through the doorway Wraith had just been about to step across. If he had kept running, he’d have been hit. For sure. “Nice try,” he snarled. There was just enough sunlight coming through a window in the next room for Wraith to see Scylla’s shadow. Perhaps some unconscious part of him had registered the silhouette and sent the signal to his brain to _halt_.

 

“You’re no fun,” Scylla huffed. He moved rapidly towards him.

 

Wraith backed away. Pressed himself against the wall.

 

_Pop. Pop._

 

The pellets bounced harmlessly into the wall farther down the hall.

 

Wraith stood up, ran to the door and fired blindly inside. _Tat-tat-tat! Tat-tat-tat!_

 

Scylla giggled. “Missed.” 

 

Wraith watched the man’s shadow retreat around the corner, farther into the house. If he’d been ticked off before, he was truly pissed now. No. Anger wasn’t even the name of this emotion. It was something a bit more bestial. It was just plain, aggressive horniness leading him on now. All of his past, failed attempts to get off coming back to haunt him. Even the memory of Hyunjin straddling him a few minutes ago was still fresh and hot against his thighs. Wraith peeped around a corner, checked that it was clear and rushed forward, gun raised and ready to shoot at the first sign of movement. “I’m going to get you back.”

 

A distant chuckle. “For what?” It was like this whole thing was a fun game to Scylla.

 

Wraith charged into the next room, swung his pistol from left to right, checking the corners. Clear. He ducked to the other side of the hall and checked the next room. Clear. He spoke up, “This time, I’ll have you on your knees in front of me, desperate for my gun in your mouth.”

 

“Which gun?” Footsteps.

 

“You know which one.” Wraith chased Scylla down the hall. 

 

Scylla tsked. “You’re not talking about a gun at all.”

 

“You’re right,” Wraith answered loudly. Proudly. “I want to put my dick in your mouth.”

 

Scylla laughed wildly. His voice bounced off the thin walls like an evil banshee’s wailing. “Do it,” he teased, sounding delighted.

 

“Let me catch you and I will.” Wraith ducked low and rushed into a room on his left. He pointed his gun in every corner but Scylla wasn’t there.

 

_Tchat-tchat-tchat-tchat-tchat._

 

Wraith curled into a ball and pressed himself into a corner only to realize that the close-sounding gunfire had come from outside of the house. Hellhound’s assault rifle. He should have recognized the noise sooner. Relaxing, he poked his head out into the hall. They were running out of rooms to run through. He could feel the wind gusting in through the front door. Shit. How fast was Scylla? Wraith hadn’t properly laid eyes on him yet! Not even a boot. He’d only seen shadows! Wraith stepped out into the hall, more than ready for the final confrontation. “Where are you?”

 

“Somewhere being too good for you.”

 

He sounded close. Terrifically so. Wraith had been in this situation too many times before and he had finally learned his lesson. He threw himself to the floor.

 

_Pop. Pop. Pop._

 

The pellets whizzed through the air right where he had been standing but he knew better than to give his greatest enemy a chance to aim again. He turned around. Sure enough, Scylla had been standing right behind him.

 

Scylla gasped dramatically. “You finally checked your six.”

 

His bad-mouthing cost him the precious seconds Wraith needed to leap up and swing his elbow upwards. It hit the muzzle of Scylla’s sidearm and knocked the damn thing clear out of his hand. Wraith stepped forward, bringing the two of them chest to chest. There it was. The look Wraith had been daydreaming about: Scylla’s pouty mouth shocked into an o-shape. Wraith wanted to kiss that mouth. He always had. Always always. So he did. Their lips crashed together with wet-sounding noises. Their noses bumped but Wraith didn’t let that stop him. He tilted his head and pushed his tongue into Scylla’s mouth. Scylla practically melted against him, kissing him back with such fervor that the arousal was instant. “Fuck,” Wraith exhaled between their lips, feeling a warm tingle shoot straight to his ballsack.

 

Scylla hummed low. Not even a word, just a gravelly sound that made Wraith temporarily forget everything else. It was Scylla who initiated the next kiss. He grabbed Wraith by the hair at the back of his neck and kissed and kissed and kissed him until they were both hot and breathless.

 

Their lips parted. Wraith’s were dry and chapped from being out in the sun but Scylla’s were still moist and cool and tasted faintly of citrus fruit.

 

“I knew you liked me,” Scylla exhaled, his eyes fluttering open behind his safety goggles.

 

But Wraith wasn’t here for words. He was here for action. “Suck my Glock.” But hadn’t they just established that this little game between them wasn’t actually about guns? Had never been about guns? “Suck my cock.”

 

It thrilled him how quickly Scylla dropped to his knees in front of him. Mouth open, tongue lolling out. Wraith nearly snatched his zipper down right then and there but he wanted to look at Scylla. Commit this image of desperation to memory so that he could feed off of it tonight when it was just him and his hand. He looked Scylla up and down. At his slim-fingered hands reaching for Wraith’s waist. At the sight of Scylla’s taut thighs straining against the material of his camo pants… It made the bulge of his erection all the more obvious. Wraith couldn’t resist. He sank to his knees and kissed Scylla again. Harder this time. Hungrier. Sloppier. He angled himself so that one of Scylla’s thighs was between his own and he moved until he felt friction. The smacking of their lips echoed around the empty house. Wraith was only vaguely reminded of the fact that they were in the middle of a game, action going on right outside, but that didn’t stop him from pressing his free hand to Scylla’s chest. His fingers danced over Scylla’s hardening nipples through his shirt.

 

Everything was happening so fast. So smoothly. So _easily_. Like both of them had been wanting this for a while. Like it was a dream.

 

Wraith toyed with the idea that he had fallen asleep outside and this was all just imagery brought on by his sun-baked brain… but he could feel Scylla’s thigh grazing against his crotch. He could feel Scylla’s mouth chasing his own as he broke the kiss. He could hear Scylla’s shaky breath in his ear as he kissed at Scylla’s neck and collarbone.

 

“F-f-f-fuck,” Scylla hissed. He had been so loud and confident and flamboyant just minutes earlier but now he was a trembling, quiet little mess.

 

There was more gunfire outside the house, a tad farther away, but Wraith pushed the noise out of his mind. He just needed a few more minutes. Just a few. All of his mounting frustration needed a place to go and what better place for it than down Scylla’s throat? Wraith sat Marquis’s gun down in the dust next to his knee, then he leaned forward and eased Scylla’s rifle off of his shoulders and none-too-gently chucked it down the hall, out of the way. Wraith pushed Scylla backwards until the man was stretched out on his back on the floor beneath him. A bit of repositioning and then he trailed a hand down Scylla’s chest, his stomach, reveling in the feel of the man’s quickening, heaving breaths. Wraith wanted to take his time - explore every inch - but they didn’t have such luxury. Wraith pushed his hand farther south. Once his fingers reached the waistband of Scylla’s camouflage pants, though, the man underneath him grew tense. “Hey… Hey…” He blinked open his eyes behind his safety goggles, panting like he’d just run a marathon. “Hey.”

 

“Hmm?” Wraith hummed, unbuttoning the man’s pants and sliding his hand into the heat of them. The silk fabric of Scylla’s underwear was smooth against his fingers.

 

“Oh,” Scylla whimpered. It took him two attempts to reach out and grab Wraith’s bicep.

 

“Hmmmm?” Wraith prompted, sitting up a little to better admire the view of Scylla squirming beneath his touch.

 

“Woojin,” Scylla moaned out.

 

Hearing his name like that would have been _so fucking hot_ if it wasn’t such a powerful, wicked reminder that Scylla knew who he was beneath the mask. Knew him in real life. Somehow.

 

Somehow.

 

Almost taken completely out of it, Woojin gasped, “Huh?”

 

“Woojin,” Scylla started again. “If… If y-y-you touch me… I’ll--”

 

But Woojin was already touching him, pressing his palm against Scylla’s erection, sliding hot friction up from the base to the tip. Then back down. Then back up again. Greedy. There was this one technique he’d been meaning to try...

 

“If you t-t-touch m-m-me, I’ll--” Scylla squeaked. He raised his knees nearly up to his chest, trapping Woojin’s hand between his thighs. 

 

“You’ll what?” Woojin asked. It was as if Scylla had lost the ability to speak in complete sentences, his words chopped into incomprehensible pieces by a stutter.

 

“Oh. I’m g-g-going to… I’m going to--” Scylla’s grip on Woojin’s bicep tightened. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to turn it red and then let out a full-body shudder. And then another. And then another.

 

It took a moment, but Woojin figured out what was happening. Fuck. “Did you just…” He raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Did you just nut in your underwear?” But the warm stickiness pressing into his palm was all the answer he needed. Woojin used his elbow a bit to pry the vice of Scylla’s thighs off of his hand. He raised his hand in front of his face and stared at the gluey whiteness congealing between his fingers. In complete disbelief, he said, “I barely touched you.”

 

“You d-d-d-don’t have to,” Scylla answered. His voice was suddenly high and squeaky. His whole face was red. He threw an arm over his eyes in what Woojin assumed was total humiliation. “I can’t… I can’t h-h-h-help it.” He waved his free hand in the general direction of his crotch. “That’s why I push you away every time you try to touch me.”

 

“Every… time?” Woojin repeated dumbly. As far as he could tell, this was the first time he’d ever tried to get Scylla off.

 

He didn’t have much time to be confused.

 

Footsteps as loud as thunder were rushing into the house from behind them.

 

The match. Fuck!

 

Scylla scrambled to get his pants buttoned back up and then tripped over his own limbs crawling down the hall to get to his guns.

 

Marquis’s gun was within arm's reach but Woojin had a different, more pressing problem. Scylla’s nut was still all over his hand. It had yet to completely dry and harden, so its whiteness would stand out smeared across the front of his shirt. He thought about scraping it into the dirt and dust that layered the floor but that, too, seemed like an awful, unsanitary idea. He did the only thing he could think of.

 

He pushed his fingers into his mouth.

 

Scylla was warm and tasted mildly salty on his tongue but there was an odd, underlying sharpness. Not quite bitterness. Closer to a pineapple sweetness.

 

Woojin swallowed.

 

“D-d-d-d-did you just… e-e-eat that?”

 

Woojin looked up. 

 

Scylla’s haste to get himself back in order had actually put him more into disorder. He'd knocked his camo hat completely off, bumped his safety goggles sideways off of his head, had his shirt collar sitting off-center around his neck, had smeared and thinned the mud across his cheeks that hid his other features.

 

Scylla wasn’t Scylla at all.

 

Scylla was Seungmin.

 

“I’ll be damned,” Woojin muttered. Now all of this really had to be some wild, impossible dream. None of it could be real.

 

The footsteps closing in on them came to a skidding halt. “There you are.”

 

Woojin turned his head, fully expecting to see Hellhound holding up a victorious salute, but...

 

It was Jacque, red in the face from exertion, breathing so hard he was drooling. His gun was propped up on his shoulder like he was sure he no longer needed it.

 

There was a tense, silent moment. Jacque and Woojin made eye contact. Then both of their gazes dropped to the other’s arms where the orange bandanna was still tied tightly around both of their arms.

 

They were both still in the game. They were both still targets.

 

Woojin acted first. He had Marquis’s gun in his hand and raised before Jacque thought to lower his. _Tat-tat-tat!_ The noise was deafeningly loud in the narrow corridor.

 

“Hit,” Jacque wheezed, raising a hand in surrender.

 

Woojin spun around and pulled the trigger again. _Tat-tat-tat!_

 

Seungmin screeched in pain and grabbed his inner thigh where Woojin had practically point-blank shot him. “Hit,” he screeched.

 

Woojin stood up. So fast he got dizzy. He couldn’t even bring himself to run so he just walked slowly out of the old house, stepping out into the light of the setting sun in a daze. The events of the last half hour turning white in his head like old, damaged film burning in front of the projector light.

 

But at least Woojin had done exactly what he’d come out here to do.

 

He’d taken out Scylla’s whole squad.


	8. Pavlovian Conditioning

The way Fortune leaned back in his office chair managed to be a bit… erotic.

 

Dude was in full airsoft gear, covered up from head to toe. His camo clothes fit comfortably loose around his elbows, his safety goggles were in place over his eyes, and his hat threw warm shadows over his face in the brightly-lit room. Really, there shouldn’t have been anything Woojin found sexy about the man in that moment but there was something about Fortune’s pose that felt so sensual. Something about his _posture_ , Woojin decided. A king waiting to be-- ... _expecting_ to be praised. Fortune had a slim, almost petite frame, yes, but his confidence was an almost physical thing that radiated off of his torso and through Woojin’s phone screen like he had turned the brightness up.

 

Woojin hadn’t thought of the dude like that before. Never found anything appealing about him until that moment. “It’s because of Hyunjin,” he told Fortune although Fortune couldn’t hear him. “I’m watching you because you’ve stuck your dick in Hyunjin. I want to see what he sees.”

 

And he could admit in the privacy of his own head that Fortune had a little _something_ to him.

 

It was in the slow, finger by finger way Fortune peeled his gloves off of his hands. In the way one of his black combat boots was propped up on the table in front of him just at the edge of the video frame. There was something about the angle of his neck, the way he stared down at the camera, the way his small small small fingers toyed with one of the buttons near his neck, that made Woojin feel like Fortune was a minute of teasing away from slipping his dick out of his pants and stroking himself.

 

Or perhaps that was just Woojin’s unquenchable horniness talking because he was on YouTube not PornHub and this was a face reveal video, not the start of a jerk off vid.

 

It was all about context. 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, adjusted his expectations and then opened them again.

 

Woojin’s desire to punch Fortune in the face came back with a vengeance and swirled through his gut like ice water. He just hated the dude. For no reason. Hated that they always opposed each other. Hated that Fortune was always in his way. Okay, he hated Fortune for no _good_ reason.

 

“I’m back, everybody,” Fortune said. When he wasn’t shouting unnecessarily to hype up his viewers, his voice was thick like slowly melting dark chocolate. Heavy enough to choke on. “And I don’t exactly have a game for you,” he added. No electronic music blasting out of Woojin’s phone speakers. No epilepsy-inducing video effects flickering across the screen. It was just Fortune’s nervous giggling. Just sunlight pouring in through a window that was out of frame. Just the odd, rhythmic creaking of the office chair as Fortune rocked his weight back and forth. He kept on, “Like I promised, I’m going to show my face now that I’ve hit…” He paused and tilted his head to the side. “Wow, now that I’ve hit a _million_ subscribers. Thanks for all of the support. I do it all for you. Legit couldn’t have gotten this far without you guys.”

 

Something sitting on the table in the foreground caught Fortune’s attention. Something slightly out of focus. It was his phone, Woojin realized. The cheerful ringtone played for about one full second before Fortune’s editing cut it all away and deposited his viewers in a moment that could have been five seconds or five minutes later but Woojin had seen enough of the phone’s screen to be able to tell that it had been Hyunjin’s name that had popped up.

 

“Alright,” Fortune said, clapping his hands together. His voice was softer and higher and more joyful now. Woojin couldn’t see the dude’s face because of the shark scarf around his throat and chin, but Woojin could still tell by the curve of his eyes that the man was grinning from ear to ear and Woojin hated that such a smile was caused by Hyunjin’s phone call. Fortune continued, “The moment of truth, you guys. I’m going to reveal my face. Hope I don’t disappoint.”

 

Woojin bit his bottom lip. He was angry and maybe a little sad but he was so so so curious. He was finally going to get a glimpse at the true face of the boy Hyunjin had fallen in love with. 

 

No more strange headless photos. 

 

No more turned-away faces. 

 

No more masks.

 

He was actually going to _see_ the Felix beneath the Fortune. He was going to see the man that had fucked Hyunjin, the man who had put all of those hickies on Hyunjin’s jaw. The man who had gotten in the way.

 

Part of Woojin didn’t want to see. Part of him didn’t want to _know_. 

 

As if reading Woojin’s mind, Fortune asked, “Do you want to see?” 

 

It would hurt more than anything.

 

Woojin’s curiosity turned to anxiety. What if the last few months of listening to Hyunjin go on and on about his mystery boy, practically shouting from the rooftops how much he was enchanted by all of Felix’s funny quirks and his good qualities and the way he smiled and how small and soft his hands were and-- “God fucking dammit,” Woojin cursed under his breath.

 

Really. Honestly. Truly. He was doing this to himself.

 

The temptation to click off the video was high. He should unsubscribe from Fortune’s channel once and for all and stop giving one of his greatest enemies all of his hate views and all of this ad revenue, but--goddammit!--Fortune was already sliding his shark mouth scarf away from his smiling mouth and down his pointy chin. He was already taking off his camo hat, already running fingers through his shiny blonde hair. That awful, hideous watch of his caught the light and sparkled in its gaudy expensiveness.

 

Woojin still had time to tap out of the vid. He still had time to close it and move on with his life but Fortune was now sliding his huge safety goggles up off of his face, exposing more and more and more of the constellations of freckles on his cheeks until…

 

Until...

 

Goddamn.

 

Woojin let out a low, defeated sigh. 

 

Then he tapped the dislike button just to be a dick. 

 

He sat his phone face down on the table in front of him and fell into a motionless daze. The same wide-eyed daze that happened when he had been in a dark, chilly theater watching a gripping, thought-provoking movie only to step through the exit door while the credits were rolling to discover that the sun was still high in the sky, that there was still plenty of light left in the day and that he now had hours and hours of unscheduled time left to kill.

 

“Hey,” Seungmin said, sounding a bit too bright and cheerful for it to be - Woojin checked his phone - 8:11AM on a Friday.

 

Woojin stared up at him, watching the underclassman step around the table and slide onto his stool next to Woojin’s. The guy dutifully unpacked his bag, precisely aligning his pencils, erasers, notebooks, printouts and textbook on the flat surface, all of his piling knicknacks in stark contrast to the empty space in front of Woojin. The older man half-whispered to him, “You’re late.” By eleven minutes, sure, but still… This was _Seungmin_.

 

“Overslept,” the underclassman admitted. “Or… I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”

 

“That’s what oversleeping is.” Woojin watched Seungmin arrange his school supplies, unable to take his eyes off the guy’s long, slightly calloused fingers, off of his smooth and pretty wrists. “What did you get up to last night?” Woojin didn’t know why he was curious. He didn’t understand why he cared. “A party? An online game or something? A late-night movie?” He leaned in close. “A fuck buddy?”

 

“S-s-s-studying,” Seungmin honestly replied. 

 

Woojin should have expected such an answer.

 

“Besides, you never added me.”

 

Woojin almost asked him ‘on what?’ before his brain supplied ‘Grindr.’ He sat there for a moment, finger plucking at the edge of the table, not caring he was scraping off flecks of paint beneath his nails. It was true. He hadn’t looked Seungmin up on the app yet. Hadn’t even thought of it as an option. Hadn’t even considered that Seungmin had been _serious_ about wanting to fuck. “I will,” he said without thinking. The idea of fucking Seungmin had been preposterous a day or so ago but now it seemed like a viable, convenient choice. “I’ll add you. You free this weekend?” Now his brain was sending signals straight to his mouth without taking a millisecond to filter them. “Are you free today? After classes?”

 

“Yeah.” Seungmin’s ready answer caught Woojin off guard.

 

Woojin was so used to being told no. So used to being invited out to a group dinner instead. Hyunjin had spoiled him. Or perhaps Hyunjin had tamed him. “Do you understand why I’m asking?”

 

“I have a 4.0, you know.” Seungmin finished unpacking his things and then leaned over on his stool to deposit his bag on the tile floor between their stools. When he sat up straight again, he met Woojin’s heated gaze and his cheeks flushed. “I’m n-n-not dumb.”

 

They stared at each other for a long moment. Woojin was barely able to reconcile this rigid, impervious Seungmin with the Seungmin he saw yesterday, the one who melted beneath him and came in his underwear at just the lightest touch.

 

Seungmin knew he was speaking while the professor was lecturing so he lowered his voice to say, “Got like two hours of sleep last night.”

 

Woojin hadn’t asked but now that he was looking, Seungmin did look a little… _ruffled_. His dyed red hair was a bushy, uncombed mess sitting on top of his head. His eyes looked narrowed and sleepy behind his thick glasses and it honestly looked like had gotten dressed in the dark with his mismatched shoes, calf-high dress socks, orange gym shorts and moss green cardigan. “You look…” Woojin choked back the rest.

 

“A mess, I know,” Seungmin filled in. He flipped his notebook open to a blank page and then started copying the professor’s writing off of the board at the front of the lab. “I might go home and change clothes after this class.”

 

“You need to,” Woojin informed him.

 

“I’m s-s-surprised that you even want to t-t-talk to me… after what h-happened yesterday.”

 

It was an option Woojin had considered. An option he’d have justified, too.

 

To find out that his greatest rival, his most ferocious opponent, was the same mousy boy who sat next to him in class… To find out that the strong, indomitable mystery airsoft player he had lusted after like a fiend for _months_ was the same nerd who stuttered through most of his sentences and who wore long sleeves in hot weather. Such a realization threatened to break Woojin, in a way, but now that he knew the truth, now that he had pulled the mask off, he could look at Seungmin and still see Scylla’s strong shoulders, Scylla’s steady hands and confident attitude, Scylla’s succulent pomegranate mouth.

 

Yes. The man next to him wasn’t the larger-than-life Scylla that he’d created in his head… but Woojin still wanted to kiss that mouth.

 

“I think I do like you,” Woojin admitted.

 

That got the tiniest little self-satisfied smirk out of Seungmin but he kept his eyes on the board, jotting everything down in his neat, orderly handwriting, his pen held in his hand as steady as the trigger stock of his rifle.

 

“You shaved your legs,” Woojin couldn’t help but comment.

 

First, Seungmin paused in his writing. Second, he paused in his foot tapping. Third, like he could only do one thing at a time, he blinked up at Woojin, mouth screwed up in confusion. “No, I didn’t. I never shave.” 

 

Woojin pointed, “But--”

 

“Look.” Seungmin twisted around on the stool. He propped one of his shoes up on the edge of Woojin’s stool, right between his legs, and then lowered a dress sock to expose his own calf. “My hair just grows really thin and light. See?”

 

Woojin _did_ see and he realized that this was the first time he’d ever seen Seungmin’s bare legs, as fond as the underclassman was of jeans. Seungmin’s legs weren’t as toned as Hyunjin’s. They weren’t as meaty and wide, but… “Can I touch them?”

 

Seungmin’s body tensed. More out of surprise than anything. He blinked once, twice, then managed a shaky, “Why?”

 

“I just want to feel them,” Woojin explained himself. He was already hypnotized by them, unable to take his eyes off the underside of Seungmin’s thighs, unable to stop himself from imagining how soft the skin would be in the place right before his legs were swallowed up by his gym shorts. “I just want to touch you.” It was that night on the stairs with Hyunjin again but, for once, Woojin wasn’t thinking about Hyunjin. “I just want to explore you.”

 

The words must have _did something_ to Seungmin because he shuddered, let out a quiet gasp and lost the grip on his pen. They both helplessly watched as it bounced off the edge of the table before tumbling to the floor between them. Seungmin looked up first. “Oh.”

 

Woojin tentatively wrapped a hand around Seungmin’s calf. It was warm under his palm and, when he applied pressure, he could feel Seungmin’s quickening pulse. Woojin dragged his hand up, up, up to Seungmin’s knee where he slid a finger in the slightly sweaty crook behind his knee and then pressed his thumb into the flesh above Seungmin’s kneecap.

 

Seungmin brushed Woojin’s hand away. “You’ll… You’ll m-m-m-make me--” He bit off his own words.

 

Cum.

 

“Even from that much?” The question hopped out of his mouth louder than Woojin intended. Although the professor lectured on without stopping, without even looking towards where they sat near the back of the windowless lab, the student at the table in front of theirs spun around on his stool to shush them at a much louder volume than they were speaking. Woojin only had eyes on Seungmin, though, and he watched as the dude ran his fingers over the warm place where Woojin’s palm had been moments earlier. “Will you really,” Woojin had to ask it at a whisper. “If I do… If I touch them… will you really...?” He couldn’t quite understand but there was also a lightning strike of boldness sizzling in him. Part of him wanted to do it. Right then and there. Just to _see_.

 

“I’m really s-s-s-sensitive.” Seungmin took a moment to muster up all of his courage to admit such a humiliating thing. “Even w-w-when it’s just me…” He raised a hand and slowly curled his fingers into a fist. “I can only go for f-f-five or so minutes.”

 

Woojin rolled his eyes. He almost laughed. “And you say you want to fuck me?”

 

It took a while, but Seungmin found his tongue. “But I can keep going. Back to back like that. For multiple rounds.” He said it so sternly and so _confidently_ that Woojin almost thought he was on the airsoft field, listening to Scylla taunt him.

 

The words had the same effect, though, and Woojin felt the kind of calmness that only settled over him when he had his target lined up perfectly in his sights and was a breath away from squeezing the trigger. He took the shot and reached out a hand to grip Seungmin’s leg again. Woojin’s fingers found Seungmin’s smooth, warm flesh and drew light, circular patterns up up up the pliant curve of Seungmin’s inner thigh.

 

“We’re in class,” Seungmin warned. Almost whined. Almost moaned.

 

Woojin boldly pushed his fingers into the meat of Seungmin’s leg and drove a hand into the heat of Seungmin’s gym shorts.

 

Seungmin reacted immediately, throwing up his guard and getting prickly. Cold. He lowered his foot from Woojin’s stool and spun until his back faced the man. “Later,” he hissed.

 

Woojin wasn’t sure if he liked that word. ‘Later’ implied a continuation of… whatever this was. A second round of a game he never thought he’d want to play. 

 

But… 

 

But! “Later,” Woojin agreed. He turned around to face forward to at least pretend he was paying attention in class but Seungmin’s ragged, shallow breathing was quite a distraction.

 

🏳

 

Woojin searched up Seungmin on Grindr after the end of their morning class together.

 

He was usually brave, particularly when it came to fucking, but something about looking up the dude’s profile while right next to Seungmin felt like a challenge he couldn’t overcome. In fact, Woojin couldn’t even open the app just to _browse_ until class ended and Seungmin had wandered away, claiming he was going for a walk, leaving Woojin to stand up and head to his next class in relative peace.

 

Woojin hated that Seungmin was so easy to find on the app now that he’d dismissed all of his picky, borderline egotistical, search parameters. He hated how quickly he recognized Seungmin’s photo in the middle of the long grid of torso pics, photos of dudes next to landmarks, and awkward headshots that looked like scanned ID badges. Woojin hated that his fingers hit the ‘add’ button on Seungmin’s profile before he could stop them. He hated that Seungmin accepted the request in less than a minute and unlocked his private photos for him almost instantly. Woojin hated that he unlocked his own private photos in return without even a moment’s hesitation, without the mildest color of shame.

 

What he loved, though, was that Seungmin’s photos got straight to business. No artistic photography, no aesthetic outfit pics and especially no dog photos. 

 

What Woojin loved most, though, was the video Seungmin sent him not even half an hour later.

 

Woojin was still in class, still paying attention to the mind-numbing details the professor claimed would be on the upcoming exam, but he lowered the volume on his phone, checked over his shoulder to ensure the girls behind him weren’t paying attention to him and then he played the vid. It was risky, but he found himself enjoying that risk. 

 

It started off benign enough. Seungmin took a few moments at the start of the clip to prop his phone upright against something before leaning back. He was sitting on a bench outside, Woojin noticed. One of the old wrought-iron ones that sat on campus near the library, he guessed. Seungmin sat there for a bit in his horrible outfit, basking in the shade trees, looking left and then looking right along the walking path that seemed to be empty now that classes were in session. Every now and then, the wind picked up and tousled Seungmin’s bushy, unkempt hair.

 

Seungmin leaned forward a bit. He played around with the angle of his phone and then, after a nauseating bit of spinning, the video reoriented, no longer showing Seungmin’s head at all and only having his torso in focus as he leaned back against the bench.

 

Woojin’s interest waned.

 

Leave it to Seungmin to send him something so wickedly unsexy like this.

 

Woojin had been about to exit out of the clip and actually pay attention in class when he discovered that the video was nowhere near as innocent as Seungmin’s awkwardness made it seem. His hand. His _hand_! Seungmin’s long fingers subtly poked and prodded at his crotch, circling the growing bulge beneath the material of his gym shorts.

 

Woojin clicked off his phone screen. “Shit.”

 

His heart racing in his chest so hard that his fingers were going numb, Woojin packed up his things and darted out of the classroom in a hurry, not caring that he was in the middle of the professor’s lecture, not caring that Hyunjin aimed a curious and worried stare at his broad-shouldered back as he left the room like the devil was after him.

 

Woojin ran down the hall, past the computer lab and the auditorium, to the men’s bathroom. It definitely smelled like housekeeping hadn’t gotten to it yet but he rushed inside and locked himself into the stall farthest from the door. He didn’t dare sit on the toilet seat, so he leaned against the stall wall as he rummaged in his bag for his earphones.

 

“Shit,” he hissed. “Shit! He’s got me like this already.” A week ago, he would have blocked Seungmin on the spot if the dude had added him on Grindr. Now look at him! Sequestering himself away in a _bathroom stall_ of all places, excited at the prospect of seeing Seungmin’s dick. “I’m such a fucking moron.” That didn’t stop him from plugging in his earphones and opening up Seungmin’s video again, starting the vid over.

 

The noise of the outdoors filtered into Woojin’s ears. All he could hear was the sound of wind and rustling leaves and bird calls, distant music, the hum of nearby traffic and the faintest faintest faintest squeaks of Seungmin’s shortened breaths.

 

It excited Woojin that Seungmin had filmed this today. Just for him. Had ‘gone on a walk’ to prepare _this_.

 

Talk about romantic. Woojin actually found himself a bit… moved.

 

Heat rushed to Woojin’s cheeks as he watched Seungmin’s index finger slide up and down the length of his dick through the material of his gym shorts. After a few seconds, Seungmin flexed it, making it press a bit more sharply against the material. Woojin could easily imagine the shape of it. The girth of it. The pinkness of the circumcised mushroom head. It was all hidden from view beneath the nylon but his mind exploded with the imagery of it. Went numb from the idea of seeing it, holding it, tasting it, having it.

 

Seungmin paused to readjust his shorts. He tucked more of the material underneath his thigh, tightening it around his dick and making the curved impression of it all the more visible.

 

Woojin legit swallowed a mouthful of his own drool.

 

Someone walked by, in the video. Talking loudly on their phone. Woojin could clearly hear their conversation, something about laundry needing to get done, something about a rent check being due, something about a roommate needing to be booted out. Woojin could clearly see the stranger stroll past Seungmin’s bench, close enough that Seungmin could have grabbed him or kicked him. The stranger even glanced back over their shoulder at Seungmin as they passed but then continued without stopping, their phone still held up to their ear. Seungmin hadn’t even paused in his work, as if being so exposed didn’t humiliate him in the least. To any passerby, it probably looked like Seungmin was just sitting on the bench, relaxing in the shade, enjoying the day.

 

Nothing to see here, officer.

 

When the figure passed out of sight, Woojin focused on Seungmin again. That one finger of his teased up and down his length for a few more moments before he grabbed the leg of his shorts and hiked it up. Hiked it up over his pale, lean thigh. Hiked it up _just enough_ for Woojin to see the pink tip of his dick, and then--

 

“Woojin,” Seungmin gasped out. “Woojin.” So faintly that Woojin thought he had imagined his own name in the audio. Then, louder, “Woojin.” Unmistakably breathy. A fourth time. “W-W-W-Woojin.”

 

Woojin watched in rapt fascination at what happened next. At the full-body shudder. At the clenched hand and heaving chest. At the white that drizzled out, crawled across Seungmin’s thigh and then slowly slowly slowly oozed across the wooden slats of the bench seat before dripping down and out of view.

 

Seungmin said something then. Practically choked it out. Then he leaned forward in his rush to end the video.

 

For several moments, Woojin stood there in the bathroom stall. Flustered. Hot and bothered. Confused. What had Seungmin said? It almost sounded like a… command. An order.

 

On the other side of the bathroom, he could hear a urinal flush as squeaky footsteps stomped across the tile floor. There was the _whoosh_ of water in one of the sinks and then the loud roar of the hand dryer. More footsteps. The swing and thud of the bathroom door.

 

In the silence that followed, Woojin readjusted his earbuds, daringly turned the volume of his phone up a bit more and then played the tail end of the video again.

 

He more clearly heard Seungmin stutter out his name. Heard Seungmin inhale sharply. And then _mumble mumble mumble rustle rustle click thud thud_ as the video ended. Woojin had almost heard the syllables. He turned the volume up a little more, almost as loud as it could go, and replayed the video yet again. This time, he ignored Seungmin’s sigh as he dragged a finger through the mess on his leg. He ignored the creak of wood as Seungmin sat up. He ignored the car honking in the background. He ignored the grating, choppy growl of the wind picking up. Then Seungmin spoke brusquely.

 

Woojin heard Seungmin _that_ time:

 

“Now it’s your turn, babe.”

 

🏳

 

“Hey, Woojin.”

 

Woojin didn’t stop blowing over his ramen noodles to cool them down. “Sup, Hyunjin.”

 

The tall guy stood next to his cafeteria table. He was dressed up today. Starched white dress shirt buttoned up to the throat, black suspenders and matching bowtie, pinstriped pants that gripped his cute little ass like no other and a wool beret that was probably too hot for today’s weather. He looked good. Terribly so. Dangerously so. He would probably _always_ look good, Woojin feared. Even if he shaved his head and wore the orange robes of a monk. 

 

“Can I sit here?” Hyunjin jerked his chin forward, indicating the numerous empty chairs around the table Woojin sat at.

 

“I don’t know. Can you?”

 

“Just tell me if I can, Woojin,” Hyunjin insisted. “I don’t wanna piss you off.” He frowned in irritation, not in the mood for Woojin’s games.

 

“You never have to fucking ask for permission with me, dude,” Woojin shot back, matching Hyunjin’s tone. “Just sit down.”

 

Hyunjin eased into a chair to Woojin’s right, purposefully leaving an empty seat between them. The distance did not go unnoticed and the silence that settled over them was definitely awkward.

 

Woojin wordlessly slurped at his ramen. Not quite salty enough for his liking but the chicken was decently spiced and he’d paid extra for an additional egg. He really could have gotten more of a meal for less cash if he’d gone to the fast food place, but...

 

“I still think we’ve got some talking to do,” said Hyunjin. Slowly. Carefully. He didn’t have a lunch with him, probably to avoid staining all of the white he was wearing. “Can we talk?”

 

“Yeah,” said Woojin noncommittally. He twisted more noodles around his chopsticks and noisily ate them, reveling in the burn of the hot food across the roof of his mouth.

 

“I miss you,” said Hyunjin all of a sudden. 

 

Woojin hadn’t heard him over all of his messy chewing. He paused. “Huh?”

 

Hyunjin raised his head and stared at Woojin until Woojin lowered his chopsticks and stared back. “I miss your… _our_ messages.”

 

Woojin exhaled through his nose. Of course Hyunjin would try to have it both ways, controlling both Woojin’s heart and his dick. “Just ask Felix for another good fuck, why don’t you?”

 

“Woojin,” Hyunjin snapped.

 

“Hyunjin,” Woojin fired back. Really. What did Hyunjin _want_? And why couldn’t they want the same thing?

 

“I don’t want to stop being friends with you just because I’ve got a boyfriend now.”

 

“Yeah, well you should probably stop sending me videos of you finger fucking yourself because you’ve got a boyfriend now.”

 

Hyunjin’s entire face went red and he immediately whirled around as if checking to see if they’d been overheard. It was the middle of the day. Not quite one in the afternoon. There was still a good chunk of time before afternoon classes so the cafeteria was crowded and noisy and not a single soul was paying the two of them any mind this far off in the corner. “How else am I going to keep having you as a friend?”

 

Woojin heard him clearly, but-- “What?”

 

“If it’s not about sex,” Hyunjin nervously twisted his fingers, “how the hell can I keep you interested in me? How the hell else can I stop you from ignoring me?”

 

“I’m not ignoring--” Fuck. He kind of was. “I don’t think about sex all of the time. Goddamn.” Said the guy who, not even an hour and a half earlier, had recorded himself jerking off in a motherfucking _bathroom stall_ because Seungmin had told him to. “Besides, I’ve gotten used to the idea of you never wanting me.”

 

Silence.

 

Woojin suddenly lost his appetite. He swallowed his noodles and smacked his chopsticks down on his stack of napkins. “We can keep being friends,” he said eventually, “but don’t send me another dick pic unless you actually want me to suck it.”

 

Hyunjin sputtered out a laugh. Probably due to Woojin’s famous forwardness. “See? That’s all we had to do. Set up boundaries,” he said. Then his tone went serious. Almost somber. “Thank you, Woojin.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For not running away just because I told you no.”

 

That was the exact opposite of what Woojin had felt. All he wanted to do was run away now that Felix was in the picture. Now that Felix was in the way. No. He couldn’t keep thinking that. Even he was now starting to believe that was unfair. “I’m just glad he makes you happy.”

 

“And if he ever makes me unhappy,” said Hyunjin, “you’ll be the first I’ll call.”

 

Woojin sat up straight. “To fuck you?”

 

Hyunjin sighed as if he wasn’t even surprised. “To teach him a lesson, Woojin.”

 

“Oh,” Woojin gasped out. “Right. That. Yeah.” He picked up his chopsticks and scooped up more noodles to shove into his mouth and hide the embarrassment of his blunder. “I knew that.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Hyunjin hummed, not believing it for a second. A smile grew over his face.

 

Woojin drank it in. He missed having such brightness shining in his face.

 

It would have been a shame if he’d lost it.


	9. Self-Actualization

The weather changed that afternoon. Faster than the meteorologist on the news had predicted in the morning. Strong, northern winds bowled through town in howling gusts, knocking over trash cans, disturbing patio chairs and sending the trees swaying and dancing. The temperature tanked steadily, getting cooler and cooler and cooler. First, it was a relief. Then it got _chilly_. Dark clouds rolled in, bringing rumbles of thunder and bright flickers of lightning with them. Freezing rain began to pour around four o’clock or so, the run-off a snot-colored yellow from the pollen. It was as if nature were reminding everyone that, yes, it was still April, despite the past week’s dreadful heat wave. At around seven in the evening, Woojin took a seat on the short red brick wall in front of the school’s auditorium. The sun had set and the sky was black from the weather. It was well after his last class of the day and he couldn’t think of any better place to sit to wait out the storm. Fortunately, the small plaza in front of the building was covered. Protected from the elements. Designed for cars to pick up and drop off passengers in inclement weather just like this. 

 

Woojin shoved a stick of lemony gum in his mouth and then, after a few chews, he added a second stick so the wad would be thick enough to blow bubbles with.

 

Around him, other students mingled and talked or popped open umbrellas or put their backpacks over their heads to race out into the auditorium’s small parking lot. Woojin hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. Hadn’t even known heavy rain was in the forecast until after lunch. It was an arduous, uphill walk from this part of campus to the north parking deck where his car was located and he refused to get drenched and ruin his dry-clean-only shirt, so waiting out here was his only good option. Especially since he didn’t have the cash on him to buy a meal from the cafeteria. 

 

Really, the cafeteria food was much too expensive to be as middle-of-the-road as it was. 

 

“Fucking shit,” he groaned as his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten in hours and chewing on the gum did nothing but remind him of that. Perhaps he’d stop somewhere on the drive home. Some take-out would be nice. He was sick of chicken so maybe something different? Fuck it. He’d go to the market. Perhaps he’d splurge and get some expensive, lean cuts of beef. Do some goddamn cooking for once. It seemed like a decent way to kill time. With weather like this, there could be no airsoft games this evening. And, if it kept pouring like this, there wouldn’t be any games Saturday, either. Fuck. It was going to be a slow night. Perhaps even a slow weekend. He couldn’t tell if such a wide open schedule was a good thing or a bad thing.

 

“Woojin. Hey.”

 

He turned at the sound of his name.

 

It was Hyunjin walking down the front stairs of the auditorium behind him. The guy got to the bottom of the stairs and then pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You’re still here?”

 

“Clearly,” Woojin stated.

 

Hyunjin’s smile faltered. His posture stiffened.

 

“Rain caught me out,” Woojin quickly explained himself, “so I’m just sitting around.” Usually on Fridays, he’d have been off campus hours ago but the rain was really coming down, soaking everything, partially flooding the walkways. “You’re still here?”

 

“Was in the computer lab studying for exams.” Hyunjin hopped onto the wall to sit next to him, swinging one long leg over it and then the other. Just like in the cafeteria during lunch, Hyunjin left a decent distance between them that wouldn’t have been there a week ago. “I’m still waiting on my ride,” Hyunjin said, as if the pink elephant in the room weren’t sitting in the space between them.

 

“Ride?” Woojin repeated. He flattened the wad of gum he was chewing against the roof of his mouth. “Don’t you drive?”

 

The story was right there on the tip of Hyunjin’s tongue. He opened his mouth and sucked in a breath but then he stopped himself and audibly clamped his mouth shut. He looked away.

 

Woojin frowned. He knew that look. “Come on, man. What is it? What’s the problem?”

 

“You told me to stop telling you about him.”

 

Woojin used his tongue to pry the gum from the roof of his mouth. The cheap shit was already losing its flavor. It hadn’t even been ten minutes. “Felix,” he said, filling in the blanks. 

 

Hyunjin nodded.

 

“Did he fucking do something to your car?”

 

“No. No. He’s--” Hyunjin bit his bottom lip. “I thought you said you didn’t want me talking about him?”

 

“Maybe I was a bit mean earlier,” Woojin attempted. “I was… emotional. If you want to talk about your _boyfriend_ , you can.” That word even felt weird to say. He knew who Felix was now and, sure, Hyunjin had been discussing the man at length for _weeks_ , but Woojin still struggled with the concept that the dude was an actual person. That he lived and breathed and had mass. Woojin was still coming to terms with the fact that Felix wasn’t just some anonymous creep online stringing his friend along and then ditching him on nearly all of their dates. He was still getting used to the fact that Felix wasn’t a bad guy. “Everything’s still going alright with you two?”

 

“I mean, yeah,” Hyunjin said. “Now that we’ve worked out a schedule to meet up, things have been great. He’s coming to get me now.”

 

That made Woojin look over at him. “He’s picking you up from campus?”

 

“Just this once,” Hyunjin said quickly, as if he already knew what was going through Woojin’s head. “He’s in town today anyways. We’ve scheduled a date. And then we’re--” Hyunjin sighed and stared off across the parking lot. “My van has been making this weird thumping noise. It’s been getting worse and worse. I’ve actually been afraid to drive it lately. I dropped it by the shop yesterday afternoon.”

 

Weird thumping noise? Might have been a worn-out fan belt. Or possibly a knot in one of the tires. “Wow, you didn’t think to ask me to take a look?” Woojin almost felt offended.

 

“Didn’t want to piss you off.”

 

“You keep saying that shit…” Woojin accidentally bit his tongue while chewing his gum. “Fuck! Do you really think I’m so petty that I won’t even do you a favor?”

 

“Sorry,” Hyunjin mumbled. “We just--”

 

“I know you’re having a tough time believing this but I’m willing to do things for you other than put your dick in my mouth.”

 

Hyunjin lowered his gaze to the asphalt. “We never finished that conversation.”

 

What a way to evade the subject! Woojin blew a fist-sized bubble and took his sweet time popping it with his tongue and sucking it back into his mouth. “How many unfinished conversations does that make for us?” Because, honestly, he was sick of it all. If he wanted a therapist, he’d pay for one. 

 

“It’s the last thing. I swear!” Hyunjin was smiling. Just a tad, but it was there.

 

Woojin hoped this wouldn’t fuck up his day. “What is it now?”

 

“The other day on the airsoft field,” Hyunjin began, “when we were talking about... what we wanted. What we wanted out of each other. It seems like we never got that far.”

 

Woojin’s cheap gum was getting tough to chew--rubbery--making his jaw ache. He’d gotten the pack out of the vending machine. If it was getting this awful this fast, it was probably expired. “I think you’ve known since day one what I wanted out of you.”

 

“And I don’t think I was clear enough letting you know what I wanted.”

 

That was a shock. Woojin had honestly been sitting there, preparing to make a long, drawn-out speech apologizing for being a rude, insatiable hornball and yet--

 

“I knew you just wanted to fuck back in the beginning, but…” Hyunjin seemed to lose his train of thought. He looked up at Woojin as if to make sure he still had the man’s attention. “Maybe I did know,” Hyunjin mumbled, “that I was leading you on. That I was luring you, I guess. Like... I was the one who initiated trading nudes but I think I kept you at a distance because I was scared.”

 

“Scared of what,” Woojin had to know. He knew he had a decent-sized dick but nothing to be _terrified of_ , he hoped. “Something I did?” He sat up a little straighter. “Something you saw?”

 

“No. It’s not on you. No.” Hyunjin distracted himself by loosening his bowtie and undoing the first button of his dress shirt. “I know how hook-up apps are. I know how they work. Stop looking at me like that.” He tried not to laugh. “But I think I’ve been afraid this whole time, all these years, that if we actually fucked, I’d never get to see you again. You’d just… go and stay gone.”

 

“So what’s the difference between me wanting to fuck you and Felix wanting to fuck you?”

 

Hyunjin curled his fingers into the smooth material of his pants. Obviously, Woojin had hit a nerve. Good. The guy deserved it a bit. An awkward silence settled over them. Then Hyunjin’s expression softened, his posture lost its stiffness. When he spoke, he sounded broken. “Because it would actually kill me if you left me.”

 

Woojin had to be very fucking careful with how he worded this. “So… what do you want out of me, Hyunjin?”

 

“A best friend,” was Hyunjin’s quick, honest answer. 

 

It wasn’t what Woojin wanted to hear but, goddammit, it was close.

 

Hyunjin lowered his voice, sounding small. Frightened. “What am I to you, Woojin? Because you keep telling me that my guesses are off.” His words nearly drowned beneath the noise of the falling rain. “What do you want out of me?”

 

 _A fuck buddy_ , Woojin wanted to say. _A dick appointment_ . But he couldn’t. As many times as he’d put himself to sleep daydreaming about fucking Hyunjin into his mattress, Woojin wasn’t confident he could admit to that right now. Not in this tight, swollen moment with all of these weird feelings on the surface of his skin, the rain threatening to wash everything away before he could put words to them. Woojin shut his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t _just_ fuck Hyunjin now, as amazing as it would be. His brain didn’t want that. His bones didn’t want that. With Hyunjin, he needed more. Only wanting a one night stand or something would have only been possible two years ago. When they had first met. Now it wasn’t entirely feasible. Now, things were different. “Someone to be with,” he said when it felt like an eternity had passed.

 

The storm raged on. Thunder boomed at a ludicrous volume and the crowd under the covered walkway let out a startled gasp at the sudden gunshot sound.

 

“I don’t think I can be that in the way that you want me to,” replied Hyunjin. He reached out a hand and put it on Woojin’s shoulder. It wasn’t until that moment that Woojin realized how desperate for contact he had been, how badly he despised the distance between them. Hyunjin leaned in close, “But I can be your best friend, though.”

 

Woojin sighed. It was either that or nothing. Nothing at all. And it destroyed him when he remembered that, only a few days ago, he had _longed_ for nothing. “I’m cool with that,” he admitted. “I’m cool with being--” What had Changbin called them? “--buddies.”

 

Hyunjin giggled at the odd term. “Okay.”

 

There was the roar of a car engine and a tidal wave of bright headlights. Woojin spun around to face the sudden noise and squinted through the brights to watch Felix’s hellayella Wrangler turn the corner and pull up beneath the covered passenger drop-off in front of them.

 

“There he is,” Hyunjin said proudly, as if Woojin hadn’t already figured it out. As if he didn’t recognize the car from the last several months of his airsoft games. 

 

“Just tell me one thing,” Woojin said quickly. He needed to get it out before he lost the chance.

 

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

 

“How long have you known that he is Fortune?”

 

Hyunjin didn’t answer him.

 

Woojin tried again. “Does it change anything?”

 

“No.” He gave Woojin a look. “How long have you known that he is Scylla?”

 

“Only a few days.”

 

“Does it change anything?”

 

Woojin took a long, serious moment to think about it. “No.” Now that he’d stopped being a baby about it.

 

Hyunjin stood up.

 

Woojin stood up as well. He just had to know. He just had to _see_. Even though he already knew. Even though he had already seen.

 

Together, the two of them approached the bright yellow vehicle. Felix rolled the passenger window down which Woojin took as permission to prop his elbows up on the door. He leaned his upper body halfway inside. “Sup?”

 

“Uhhh….” Felix turned down the volume of his music and stared across the cloth seats at him, his eyes wide and his mouth half-open in surprise. “Hey?” His face was dotted from forehead to chin in freckles but, on top of that, Woojin could still see phantoms of the red welts his airsoft pellets had left on the dude’s face. “Do I know you?”

 

“Yeah, you do.” 

 

Felix leaned across the seat as if to get a better look. “Where from?”

 

Woojin was almost taken aback and not just because of the guy’s deep, resounding voice. Felix had this _look_ about him. His facial features were razor sharp and bubblegum soft simultaneously and when Hyunjin squeezed into the windowframe to prop his chin up on Woojin’s shoulder, Woojin watched both in joy and utter despair as Felix’s entire face lit up.

 

“Hyunjin,” he called out cheerily. “This your friend?”

 

“Yeah,” Hyunjin chirped. “Meet Woojin. My bestie.”

 

Woojin held up a peace sign. 

 

“Woojin, meet Felix. My... boyfriend. Wow. I’m still getting used to saying that.” 

 

Felix waved and let out a high-pitched, nervous chuckle. Now that he had gotten over his surprise, his smile came easy. Natural. Nowhere near as forced and cringey as it had been in his face reveal video on YouTube.

 

“He talks about you all the time,” Woojin pointed out. He spread his gum over the tip of his tongue. “Good things. Sometimes too many things. Like you being absolutely terrible at eating ass.” He blew a bubble with his gum but did it crooked so all of the air leaked out.

 

What he said took a moment to register. Then Felix’s entire face went red. “Oh.”

 

Hyunjin leaped back and playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Woojin! Jesus fucking Christ.”

 

“Or,” Woojin continued, unfazed, “how you’re so sensitive and ticklish that Hyunjin can’t lick your balls without you squirming off the bed.” He blew another bubble. Perfectly.

 

Felix coughed hard, raising his fist in front of his mouth. “Ahh, so this is what he meant about you not beating around the bush.” He spotted the odd look on Woojin’s face. “He talks about you. Now I can put a face with the name.”

 

Woojin put his thumb and index finger to his mouth and pulled and pulled on the dry, stale gum until it snapped. Then he shoved the pieces back between his teeth. Plowing on ahead, he said, “Hyunjin also told me that what really gets him off is when you--”

 

Hyunjin hit him again. Hard enough to almost make him choke on his gum. “Woojin!” 

 

“You guys must be really, _really_ close friends,” Felix attempted. His embarrassment was so great that the redness had seeped down from his cheeks to his neck.

 

Woojin smirked. “We tell each other everything.” He put some steel in his voice. “So if you fuck up, I’ll be the first to know.”

 

Felix raised a hand to his blonde hair and pushed his fingers through the smooth, styled locks. It took him a while to pick up on the fact that it wasn’t _exactly_ a threat. When he looked back over at them, he had regained his composure. He met Hyunjin’s eye. “I’ll do my best. I’m new to this shit and it can be really overwhelming sometimes but…” He turned to Woojin. “I’ll do my best.”

 

“Fuck him good. He deserves it.”

 

“Woojin!” Hyunjin screeched.

 

At least now, Felix was laughing from joy instead of nerves. Woojin’s sense of humor was a bitch to adapt to.

 

Woojin glanced over his shoulder to get a good look at Hyunjin and the sweet, rosy color that had settled across his cheeks. At the smile that was so bright it was nearly blinding. At the shine in his eyes as he leaned into the car to gaze at Felix. Woojin sighed. He was just glad that _someone_ could make Hyunjin glow like that. “Text me when you get back to the house,” he said, stepping back and swinging open the passenger door.

 

Hyunjin got inside. “Sure thing. I promise I won’t… tell you too much.”

 

“Please don’t,” Felix begged, clapping his hands together. “Leave _something_ to the imagination, dammit.”

 

“We’re just used to sharing everything,” Hyunjin told him, buckling his seat belt. 

 

Felix sighed and looked up at Woojin. “I’m guessing that means you’ve seen my dick pics, then?”

 

“Want me to rate you?” Woojin didn’t wait for an answer. “A seven out of ten.”

 

Felix poked Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Is that low? That sounds low.”

 

“Drive safe.” With Hyunjin inside the car, Woojin shut the passenger door and stepped back onto the curb.

 

“See ya, Woojin,” Hyunjin bellowed out the window.

 

Felix cut his music back up, the same raucous EDM that served as the soundtrack to all of his airsoft videos. Then the Wrangler revved its engine and took off into the night, the bright brake lights reflecting endlessly in the water on the road. Woojin could hear their echoing laughter even over the pounding rain.

 

🏳

 

“Let me guess,” Jack Rabbit hopped in before Wraith could say his piece, “we say screw it to any of our rehearsed attack plans, we completely ignore the objective, don’t go anywhere near the capture points and spend the whole round hunting down Scylla’s squad for no reward except personal gain?” He hit the nail on the head. If a bit bluntly.

 

Wraith hooked his eyes to the left to glance at the scrawny dude. Itching for a fight, he growled, “You got a problem with that?”

 

Jack Rabbit met his eye defiantly, but then, “No. I’m ready for it, man. I think I’m finally getting used to your style.” 

 

“About time,” Wraith complained. “It’s been weeks, dude.”

 

“Hardly a month,” Marquis piped up.

 

Jack Rabbit raised his voice. “This shit gets me fucking hype! It’s like fucking speedrunning a fucking video game. Running past all the small fries and going straight for the fucking boss!”

 

His excitement would have been wonderful ten minutes ago in their base, but-- “Shh,” Marquis hissed. “We’re out on the field.” And close to enemy territory, to boot.

 

The boy didn’t hear him. “Man, it’s like being in high school all over again. Having a rival team to face down every season.”

 

Marquis got on him again. “Shh!” 

 

Fortunately, Jack Rabbit lowered his voice to a loud stage-whisper to continue. “I get why it’s all you think about, man. Hunting Scylla is like… is like… ugh, it’s so fucking fun. My blood’s pumping already.” 

 

“Didn’t you hate it when he ignored the game,” Marquis asked.

 

Jack Rabbit shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. “That was all before I found out how cool Wraith is. Now all of his craziness is okay because I know he can back it up.” He brushed invisible dirt off of Wraith’s shoulders. “Everyone has been talking about how you took on Scylla’s whole squad by yourself the other day.”

 

“I wasn’t by myself,” Wraith corrected. “I had some backup.” He glanced in Hellhound’s direction but the man wasn’t facing him.

 

Jack Rabbit continued singing his praises. “Some younger guys were raving about you earlier today in the changing room. I walked up to them like, bitch, that’s _my_ captain.” He smiled smugly.

 

Wraith couldn’t help but shake his head, the tiniest chuckle escaping him.

 

“Road’s clear,” Hellhound announced from up front.

 

Just like that, they were all serious again. Guns held at the ready. Bodies tense. Minds focused.

 

“Move, move,” Wraith ordered and, in single file, the four of them rushed across the asphalt to the grassy ditch on the other side. They threw themselves prone on the ground in an attempt to keep their profiles small. Wraith waited until Hellhound’s breathing quieted next to him. He whispered, “Anyone got eyes on ‘em yet?”

 

For a brief moment, none of them moved. Then Hellhound crawled out of the ditch, using his elbows to drag himself forward on his stomach. He swung his head from right to left, scanning the nearby houses, listening for any voices or footsteps or gunfire. “Negative.”

 

Jack Rabbit cussed, “Shit.”

 

“We still have time,” Marquis reminded him patiently. 

 

Everyone’s eyes were on Wraith, awaiting the next command. The rain the other day had turned most of the airsoft field to puddles and boot-sucking mud by Friday evening but the cold temperatures overnight had hardened the mess. Now, late Saturday afternoon, the landscape was all oddly-green fields and deceptively slick hills. The greening grass meant their brownish camo suits wouldn’t be as effective so they had to pay even closer attention to where they gathered and moved. Wraith sucked in a deep breath and then let it out. Now that his blood was no longer pounding in his ears, he could hear. Nothing out of the ordinary registered. He crawled forward a bit, pressing himself against Hellhound’s side. He checked ahead of them and then rolled over onto his back to look behind them. They were in the clear. 

 

“Forward,” Wraith commanded. “Go!” They all got to their feet and charged ahead. Four sets of heavy combat boots pounded across the earth and through the grass. 

 

Jack Rabbit, the fastest, reached the front side of one of the old houses first. The front door was completely missing so it took no effort for him to peer in, gun held at the ready. Then he rushed into the building completely, disappearing from sight for a tense few seconds before reappearing in the doorway. “Clear.”

 

One by one, they slipped into the house after him, moving carefully to keep the old wood from creaking beneath their shoes.

 

Marquis brought up the rear, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon even for the movement of a bush. Hellhound took point, leading the way through the house’s hallways, pointing his assault rifle through every hole in the drywall, every gap between half-rotted plywood. “House is empty,” he announced from two rooms ahead.

 

Wraith and Jack Rabbit met up with him just outside the back door. Wraith found the nearest window and peered through it while Jack Rabbit eased the door open on its squealing hinges and allowed in the late afternoon sunlight. But then… “Movement,” Jack Rabbit ducked out of the doorway. “Hostiles.”

 

They all went still. 

 

“Is it Scylla,” Marquis asked, sounding oddly excited at the prospect in spite of his earlier complaints. “Wraith, is it them?”

 

Wraith couldn’t make out shit with both his safety goggles and the old, warped glass in the windowpane in his way. He stepped back from the window and approached the back door slowly, keeping to the shadows to stay out of sight, then he raised his gun level with his eyes and peered through the scope.

 

“Two o’clock,” Jack Rabbit gave him the direction. “Heading west.”

 

Wraith turned his body slowly until he was facing the correct way. Seconds of sweeping back and forth passed until he spotted a four-man squad in his sights. Marching at quite the clip. Just about at a jog. Wraith spotted the colors on their forearms. “Friendlies,” he said, relaxing.

 

The tension in the air eased.

 

Marquis put his head out of the door. “What are they doing out here?”

 

His concern was well-placed. Their team was playing defense this round so such hectic movement was odd. Sure, keeping squads rotating between capture points was the easiest way to keep attackers from flanking or camping, but, at the same time, the capture point in question was to their seven o’clock. Behind them by a street or two. Those guys were marching pretty far forward to just be on patrol.

 

_Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!_

 

Distant gunfire.

 

Everyone was tense again. Marquis drew back from the door and flattened himself against the wall, out of sight.

 

“They spotted someone,” Jack Rabbit figured.

 

_Pop! Pop!_

 

“Do we move in?” Marquis suggested. “Offer backup?”

 

Wraith opened his mouth to answer.

 

Jack Rabbit was the one to snort back a laugh. “Only if you think it’s Scylla.”

 

Marquis grumbled and kicked Wraith in the shin. “You’re an awful influence!” But when Wraith turned to look at him, he could see the sparkle of a smile in Marquis’s large eyes.

 

 _Pop! Pop!_ The gunfire sounded close.

 

 _Tat-tat-tat-tat!_ The answer sounded closer.

 

“Doesn’t sound like Chariot’s gun,” Wraith said, but he peered around the door just to double check.

 

The action was going on to his left, about two houses away. He followed the action for a moment. From what he could tell, their team had been rushing in for an ambush and had successfully caught the hostiles from behind. With the advantage of surprise, even as Wraith stood there and watched, their team was pushing the enemy squad back. “Hit,” one of the tangos yelled. The other three fell back towards the trees, the sound of their gunfire would surely attract other squads.

 

Wraith came to a decision. “Head east. Full speed. Now.”

 

The four of them jumped from the open back door and took off running, repositioning without putting much thought into stealth. The yard was wide. The sprint was long. Longer than Wraith anticipated. He hadn’t accounted for the empty lot they had to cross. It was a risk not to stop and check but he continued running forward, angled them across the two-lane street, across the halfway point and into enemy territory, across another empty lot, and pointed them towards the remnants of a storage shed. It was nearly thirty seconds before all four of them had made it to the structure’s crooked shadow. They fell against the wooden wall, all of them breathing hard. Gasping. Marquis was nearly choking. 

 

“Easy,” Wraith urged. “Get your wits.” If they had kept to the path they had originally mapped out, they could have kept to some cover, using the old houses to stay out of Scylla’s possible sight range. Rushing across not one but two empty lots at a full sprint was just begging for a sniper to take the easy shot but Wraith hadn’t heard Scylla’s rifle. Hadn’t seen Jacque’s drone. That could have been a very good thing or a very bad thing.

 

“Fuck. I need a minute,” Hellhound choked out.

 

It was quite the run. They’d deserved the break.

 

“I’ll watch our six,” Wraith said, already turning and raising his rifle.

 

Marquis yanked at the scarf around his neck until he’d freed up enough space to suck air into his open mouth. Hellhound pulled his safety goggles down over his face and used his sleeve to blot sweat from his forehead and nose.

 

“This is crazy,” Jack Rabbit let them all know. “But… the good crazy. I’m down with this. I’m pumped.”

 

“Shh,” Marquis got him yet again. Now that Wraith could see the bottom half of his face, Marquis’s excited smile was on full display. The dude noticed Wraith staring and self-consciously yanked his scarf back up over his face. “We’re too exposed here. We need to get to some proper cover.” He crawled forward into the knee-high grass, keeping so low that he practically disappeared into the plant growth. 

 

Jack Rabbit moved to the corner of the shed closest to where he’d gone and whispered, “Eyes?”

 

Wraith checked the view from the other corner of the shed, the one closest to the fire fight they had just fled from. His shortness of breath was surely playing tricks on him. He wasn’t entirely sure if movement on the other side of the street was his vision going wonky or a group of approaching shadows.

 

“Marquis? Eyes?” Jack Rabbit repeated, slightly frantic.

 

They all turned towards the patch of grass, barely able to hear Marquis’s movements. Several moments passed before Marquis appeared again, surprising them all because, in so short a time, he had gotten halfway across the yard between the shed and the main house. Marquis said nothing. He merely held up two fingers and pointed at himself twice in rapid succession.

 

Hellhound moved to follow him first, ducking through the grass with far less grace and far more noise.

 

Jack Rabbit was the next to move. Or try to. Wraith caught him by the shoulder and pointed to the opposite side of the yard. Not needing more than that, Jack Rabbit changed directions. He avoided the grass completely and sprinted across the open yard, vaulting over an old stone well and sliding between the gap in the old fence that bordered the property. 

 

Wraith checked his six a second time, sweeping his gaze up and down the road behind him, but he saw no movement. Perhaps what he’d seen before had just been a trick of light brought on by the sunlight. He paused. Even the noise of gunfire from across the street had ceased and he could only hope that his team had been the victor. Perhaps they _should_ have offered supporting fire. If only for a few moments. Anything to tip the scales. Whatever. It was too late now. Wraith turned back around and rushed forward. He pressed his rifle against his chest and followed Jack Rabbit to the edge of the yard, using the well as cover as opposed to leaping over it like an Olympic athlete. On the far side of the yard, he slipped through the gap in the fence and joined up with Jack Rabbit behind a section of stone wall. To his left, he saw Marquis and Hellhound leap into another tall patch of grass towards the front of the house.

 

They waited.

 

This was beginning to wear on Wraith’s nerves. Each street they crossed, each neighborhood they passed through, each yard they rushed across, brought a higher and higher probability that they would run into Scylla’s squad. The other day had been pure luck. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have been able to get the jump on those guys. They would be extra vigilant today. He needed his whole team at his back to stand a fair chance today. Wraith let out a deep breath. He had to physically resist the urge to just advance recklessly, guns blazing. No. Wraith had to keep a cool head. He couldn’t allow his nerves to cloud his logic. Letting his impatience get to him had led him to the same mistake enough times that he was finally starting to learn from it. “Stay hot,” he warned.

 

As if in response, they all heard numerous footsteps. Close. Really close.

 

Jack Rabbit stood up and raised his head above the stone wall but then ducked back down hardly a breath later. “Hostiles,” he whispered into Wraith’s ear. “Right on the other side.”

 

The other guys were indeed close. Wraith could feel their heavy gaits shake the ground a bit, could hear their grunts of effort as the group of them sprinted past. Westward. The general direction of the fire fight.

 

Marquis made eye contact with Wraith from across the yard.

 

Wraith held up a fist. Hold.

 

Marquis ducked his head and all but vanished among the unkempt grass and wildflowers.

 

Eventually, the sound of footsteps receded and silence swept back over them. Wraith advanced along the edge of the stone fence, crouching to keep his head down, until he reached a place where enough of the stone had eroded away for him to see over. The street was clear. He signaled in the last direction he’d seen Marquis and hoped the man had seen.

 

“Boost me,” Jack Rabbit whispered from behind him.

 

Wraith planted his feet and squared his shoulders.

 

Jack Rabbit stepped up onto his back and then hopped onto the stone fence. “Hand.”

 

Wraith reached up.

 

With a surprising amount of strength, Jack Rabbit clasped his hand and hauled him up onto the top of the stone fence. Always on the lookout, Wraith searched left and then right. There was the noise of distant gunfire but he saw no movement so it had to have been farther away than it sounded. Wraith pointed across the street and diagonally a bit to the two-story home that sat on the street corner. Then, not wanting to risk getting spotted, he leaped off of the wall and crouched into the grass next to where Jack Rabbit was already lying prone.

 

Hellhound was the first to cross the street. He almost seemed to take his time, as if acting like live bait.

 

No gunshots. No footsteps. Wraith didn’t spot movement in any of the windows of the houses that were facing them. He had to remind himself that his team was on defense. Logically, no one on the enemy team should have been holed up somewhere, waiting. They’d all be on the other side of the forward line, advancing on the points that the rest of the green team was working hard to protect.

 

Marquis started across the road next, pointing his pistol towards the shadowy alley between the two houses in front of them. Jack Rabbit took off next, sprinting so fast that he made it to the building before Marquis did. Wraith brought up the rear, walking backwards to face the direction they had come from, checking and double-checking for any targets.

 

“Front porch clear,” Jack Rabbit stated.

 

“Side yard clear,” Marquis confirmed.

 

For a moment, they grouped on the house’s front porch, staying behind the wooden railing for cover.

 

“We could be cold, you know,” Hellhound said. “They may not be in this direction. Knowing Scylla’s tactics, they could be waist-deep in our territory, looking for _us_.”

 

“The two of you do think freakishly similar,” mumbled Marquis.

 

It was a possibility Wraith had only considered for a moment. Usually, their two squads clashed in some outlandish way because he and Scylla were attempting the same ballsy move, just from opposite directions. Today wouldn’t be any different. Right? “We’re going to set up here,” he decided. 

 

“We’ll cover you while you get to the roof,” said Hellhound, always on Wraith’s side.

 

“Roger that,” Wraith agreed. He was already circling towards the house’s side yard. There was a tree there that he’d spotted some distance back. It looked sturdy enough and tall enough for him to use it to climb up to the building’s flat roof. In the side yard, he thought he heard rustling grass so he stopped short. Paused. Listened. 

 

Nothing.

 

Wraith was just about to start up the tree when Marquis gripped him by the elbow, nearly startling him.

 

“No weird atmosphere between you and Hellhound today,” Marquis pointed out.

 

Wraith rolled his eyes. “I told you repeatedly that there wasn’t a problem.”

 

“There was,” Marquis corrected. “And you know it. I like minding my own fucking business but that shit was hard to watch.” He released his hold on Wraith’s elbow and stepped back to give him room. “Glad you two got through that mess. I like being on this squad too much for either of you to flake.”

 

“I wasn’t going to flake,” Wraith reassured him.

 

“But you were pressuring Hellhound to leave,” griped Marquis.

 

This was exactly why Wraith liked to leave off the field problems _off of the field_ , but Marquis raised a good point. One worthy of addressing. “Sorry, man. We were going through some shit but we shouldn’t have put you or Jack Rabbit through that.”

 

Marquis held out his arms. “We good?”

 

“We’re good.”

 

Marquis backed away, getting into position. “Shit’s behind us now.”

 

“And that’s where it’ll stay.” With that, Wraith returned to the tree. He slung his rifle over his back and climbed from branch to branch, keeping his feet near the thick trunk to reduce the amount of shaking he sent up the spindly branches. It was quiet out here today. No wind. The noise of rustling leaves would echo off of all of these walls and carry like an armful of bells. He got to a high up enough branch so that he could hop the short distance to the roof of the old, rotting house. 

 

Now this was a sniper’s nest. From this position, he had quite the vantage point. He could see all of the way down the hill behind the house to the next row of houses and, if he set up his scope, he’d be able to see even farther away than that. If Scylla’s crew came through this neighborhood at all, he’d be able to spot them and if he couldn’t line up the shot himself, he could signal his team to move in instead. 

 

He worked quickly. Quietly. Like the phantom he named himself after. He lay prone on the flat roof, on his stomach, his rifle held steady on the short wall that lined the roof. If he relaxed his shoulders and eased the barrel forward a bit… There. 

 

Now he could angle his gun to the street below if he needed to.

 

Wraith peered through the scope, moving in long, steady strokes from left to right, covering each street and each yard.

 

Shit. It was quiet out here. Still. The only sound was his own pulse in his ears. The only movement was his own breathing gently rocking his rifle.

 

There was Jack Rabbit, across the street. Half-hidden beneath an overgrown shrub at the side of the house.

 

A bit closer, on his side of the street, he made out Hellhound watching him from the ditch. Hellhound made a deliberate movement with his finger, pointing to the house’s ground floor. 

 

“Marquis is down there,” Wraith interpreted, his voice leaving his mouth in little more than an exhale.

 

The positions of his teammates confirmed, he raised his rifle and went back to scouring the streets.

 

One minute passed. Then two. Then three.

 

Was that the shine of a drone catching the light of the setting sun off to his three o’clock? Or had that been the feathers of a bird?

 

The wind picked up for the first time since the round started. Getting louder and louder, sounding like a dog’s howl as it slipped between the houses. Off in the distance, at the very edge of the neighborhood, a flock of birds took flight and moved south.

 

The minutes continued to stack up on top of each other until five more had passed.

 

Wraith pointed his gun at the street beneath him. Jack Rabbit had left his initial position and was now two houses away, climbing over the windowsill and vanishing into the dark interior. Hellhound had also moved farther away, tucking himself into a tight cranny between the debris of a fallen billboard. He didn’t have eyes on Marquis but there was a high chance the man was still downstairs, waiting.

 

Doubt started to eat away at Wraith’s guts. Had he been wrong? Was Scylla not out here?

 

His eyes were growing weary from squinting through the sights. He eased his rifle away from his face then moved his left arm in a slow, wide circle to ease the stiffness of the muscles in his neck. When that didn’t particularly help, he lowered his rifle to the roof and sat up on his haunches. He pushed his fingers into his neck and forcefully massaged the knot growing in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

 

The pain eased at last. A bone at the base of his neck popped. Loud. But not loud enough to drown out the sudden shuffling of approaching footsteps immediately behind him.

 

Wraith’s body went cold with realization just as a warm hand clamped down hard over his mouth.

 

The familiar scent went straight up Wraith’s nose. That cologne! “Scylla,” he grunted, his voice muffled to nonsense beneath Scylla’s hand.

 

“Wraith,” Scylla hissed into his ear.

 

Wraith involuntarily shivered at the sound.

 

Then Scylla yanked him backwards. The screech of surprise was also muffled to nothing under Scylla’s palm. With one more tug, Scylla pulled Wraith down onto his back. The sun shone straight into his face. Wraith winced and squeezed his eyes shut against the brightness. In his moment of vulnerability, he felt Scylla straddle him. He felt a hand press down against his chest, pinning him to the warm stone of the roof.

 

Wraith opened his eyes.

 

Scylla had already snatched off his camo hat and safety goggles, if he’d even been wearing them in the first place. Seungmin hovered over him, his hair a curly mess and his face flushed from all of the action. “Hey, babe,” he breathed out, chest heaving beneath his fatigues. He took his hand off of Woojin’s mouth to yank the goggles up and off of the man’s face. “F-f-f-fancy meeting you here.” That dastardly little smile. It was the same confident look he’d given Woojin the other morning in lab.

 

Woojin kept his voice to a whisper. “How long have you known?” If he was too loud, his teammates would hear and come running. A week ago, he would have needed that. Now, he’d scrape together all of the spare time he could get with the man gently rolling his hips down on top of him. “How long did you know we were over here?”

 

“About ten m-m-m-minutes? Jacque’s little spider s-s-s-spotted you and you know I had to c-c-come running.”

 

Woojin cursed under his breath. So it _had_ been a drone instead of a bird he’d spotted. He should have trusted his instinct!

 

“How did you get up here? Isn’t Marquis downstairs?” Surely, Woojin would have heard an airsoft gun go off right beneath him. Surely, he would have heard Marquis scream that he was hit.

 

Instead of directly answering him, Seungmin just pouted a bit and commented, “Babe’s getting h-h-hard already.”

 

Woojin hated how quickly his face went hot. “Because you’re pissing me off.” Woojin could have struggled. He _easily_ could have pushed Seungmin’s bird weight off of him but… “Because I spent all night thinking about you.”

 

Seungmin tsked his disapproval. “Message me back, then.” He lifted a bit of his weight off of Woojin’s hips and then used his knee to force Woojin’s thighs apart. With an incomprehensible amount of confidence, Seungmin eased himself down between Woojin’s legs until they were crotch to crotch, chest to chest, covering Woojin with his body.

 

Woojin raised a hand to his own face and pulled his skull mask down over his chin.

 

Accepting the invitation, Seungmin pressed a light, damp kiss to Woojin’s jaw. One of his hands found its way into Woojin’s hair, pushing his dark locks away from his forehead so that Seungmin could lean forward and press a kiss there, too. Seungmin’s other hand hooked beneath Woojin’s left knee and bent it back towards his chest, giving himself the angle and the leverage to grind his hips down across the curve of Woojin’s ass.

 

Woojin hadn’t moved a muscle but he was breathless. “I will. I’ll message you. We can fuck.”

 

“When,” Seungmin asked. Begged. Pleaded. “When?” He circled his hips downward with a bit more force, igniting napalm-hot friction between them.

 

“Today. Tonight.” Woojin sputtered out the words. He reached out a hand desperately. It found the back of Seungmin’s neck and pulled him down so that they were forehead to forehead.

 

Seungmin reminded him, “That’s what you said y-yesterday.” Seungmin fought against Woojin’s hold on his neck and planted a kiss on Woojin’s jaw. Feathery soft. He was exhibiting a world-class amount of restraint given their position. “That’s what you said the d-d-day before yesterday.”

 

“It’s because I wanted to ask you something first.”

 

“Hmm?” Seungmin hummed against his skin. Pressing his lips to the corner of Woojin’s mouth, his eyes never leaving Woojin’s for a second. “You actually want to t-t-t-talk to me? When I’m s-s-so hard to l-listen to?”

 

“I don’t care about that,” Woojin grunted. “Not now. And I know you can’t help it.” He raised his head and lunged for Seungmin’s mouth to properly kiss him but Seungmin purposefully turned his head at the last moment, making Woojin kiss his throat instead. Woojin moaned. “How dare you.”

 

“You said you wanted to t-t-t-talk. Let’s talk.” Seungmin lifted his hips, pulling away and taking his heat and friction with him.

 

Woojin tried to sit up and chase him but Seungmin put a halting hand on his chest.

 

“What’s your question,” Seungmin asked seriously. He released his hold on Woojin’s knee and Woojin used the opportunity to snake his leg around Seungmin’s waist to at least keep him close.

 

“I…” Woojin’s words failed him. He blamed it on his heart thundering in his chest. He blamed it on the untouched heat in his groin. “Dammit.”

 

Seungmin remained tense, unsure of what to expect. 

 

Woojin almost couldn’t believe he was about to ask this, but, “What do you want out of me?” Already, he was a tiny, shaking mess. Desperate for a touch. A lunatic for a connection. 

 

Seungmin threw the question right back at him: “What do you w-w-want out of me, Woojin?”

 

He was not about to hesitate to ask for what he wanted ever again. “A fuck buddy.” To demonstrate his point, he lifted his hips off of the stone roof, his erection bulging beneath the front of his pants. “Get me off,” he commanded.

 

Seungmin laughed. Possibly loud enough to give them away. “That’s too bad. We were almost on the same page.”

 

It was like a weight had dropped right on top of him. Crushing him. The breath left Woojin’s lungs in one big whoosh. He sank back down onto the roof and stared up at Seungmin like the guy had grown a second head. What pissed him off was that Seungmin was still grinning. Grinning like he’d somehow won. Woojin got angry. His free hand went to his sidearm strapped to his upper thigh. He curled his fingers around the grip of the small gun.

 

Above him, Seungmin pushed close to him again. But not close _enough_. “What I want out of you,” Seungmin said, dragging his hand across Woojin’s groin agonizingly slow and far too lightly to offer any relief, “is a fuck buddy.”

 

The confusion sent Woojin’s thoughts spiraling. “But--”

 

Seungmin pressed a finger across Woojin’s lips to silence him. “A fuck buddy I can take out to dinner sometimes. Do y-y-y-you-- What do you say?” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against the side of his own finger, preventing them from kissing by a hair’s width.

 

“It should be me asking that question,” Woojin grunted, pushing Seungmin’s face away. “What do you say when _this_ happens?” He raised his gun. He pulled the trigger. 

 

Seungmin slapped a hand over his arm where the pellet struck him. “Fuck!” His voice echoed between the buildings loud and clear.

 

“No no no,” Woojin chided. He stood up and gathered his rifle. “That’s not what you fucking say.”

 

“Hit,” Seungmin cried out, falling over onto his back, writhing in mild pain. Still clutching at his arm, he glared up at Woojin. “I’m hit.”

 

“That’s much better,” Wraith said, sliding his mask back up over his face. He stepped towards the edge of the roof closest to the tree. It would be harder going down than getting up. Wraith looked over his shoulder to give Scylla one last look. “Now I’m going to make the rest of your squad say that.”

 

“Woojin,” Scylla squeaked out. He sat up. “Did I s-s-s-say the wrong thing?”

 

Wraith laughed and swung one leg over the edge of the roof and took a moment to gauge the distance between himself and the sturdiest-looking tree branch. “No,” he called back. Then he made the leap, landing on the branch with only the lightest grunt. “We’re on the same page.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/TheSwingbyJHF)


End file.
